The Beautiful Way

A/N: This part is partly inspired by a GW fic I read over a decade ago, but I'll talk about that more in the afterword.


Thank you DreadfulVirtue, xpinkcloudx, Katastrifi, Qwerty, Satterb, Deminos, YACUMO, and Nivell for reading and reviewing! My responses to you reviews are in this thread: http://www2.adult-fanfiction.org/forum/index.php/topic/18669-the-beautiful-way/


Part II: The Tempting of Abarai Renji


There were footsteps sounding over the wooden floor, and they were heading right toward him. They echoed in the large main hall, their owner unable to hide the noise of his large frame. The boys sleeping next to Byakuya pretended not to notice, but Byakuya knew that they were now wide awake.

Byakuya sensed more than saw the man stop and crouch down next to his futon. It was the night of a new moon, and not much light found its way into the dojo walls. Still, Byakuya sensed him there and drew back his sheets in response. A heavy body settled between his spread legs. Byakuya felt a large chest settle on top of his, felt hot breath on his neck. Hands lifted the sides of his yukata, revealing his creamy thighs and uncovered bottom. A hard, stiff cock pressed against his hole as he wrapped his arms and legs around the body above him. He was ready, of course. . . he was prepared every night, after his bath, just in case his master desired the pleasure of his body. It was his duty as wakashu, and Byakuya was obligated by family honor and societal custom to see it through.

Byakuya bit his tongue as he was breached and speared, so that his moan came out instead as a muffled noise. The man started to rut into him, his guttural noises and the sound of flesh meeting flesh filled the room. Byakuya could hear the shifting of futons nearby, could see the surreptitious movements of hands underneath sheets as some of the other boys watched their union. The man didn't last long, and soon spilled himself into Byakuya's waiting body.

The man pulled his cock from Byakuya's hole and crept down his body. Byakuya could see the man's head settle between his thighs, and then could feel his cock being enveloped by wet heat. He bit his lip from making noise, but couldn't help but let a moan escape every now and then. As the man sucked on him Byakuya's climax built, until his body trembled and he groaned, shooting his seed down the man's throat.

The man swallowed all of him before crawling back up and pressing a kiss against Byakuya's lips. Byakuya could vaguely make out his features now. A long, somewhat plump face, with large, wet lips. The top of his head was shaved in the traditional way, and the rest of his hair was pulled up into a topknot.

"Your nectar tastes as sweet as ever, Byakuya," Marechiyo Omaeda said, before pressing another kiss against Byakuya's lips. And, with that, he stood up and went away.

At first Byakuya wasn't sure why a man like Omaeda, with his penchant for luxury, preferred to lay with him in the spartan environment of the communal hall. But then he realized that Omaeda was the type of man who preferred to have an audience. He enjoyed showing Byakuya off, as was his right.

"It is an honor," Omaeda had said, the day they were introduced, "to have such a lovely apprentice."

Omaeda had been chosen by the Kuchiki elders in response to Byakuya's initial complaints about Zaraki. Zaraki was uncouth and low-class, and Omaeda was neither of those things. And Byakuya, in his grief over Zaraki's death, had hardly cared who his next nenja would be.

He closed his eyes and went back to sleep.

The next morning Byakuya woke and took part in the usual morning routine, up until he was called to Omaeda's quarters for lunch. He made his way to the large room, opening the door to find it in an uncharacteristic state of untidiness. Chests were lined up against the wall, filled with all manner of belongings. Though Byakuya supposed it was to be expected. This afternoon they would be moving into Omaeda's new manor; its construction had been completed almost a year ago, but it was only now that the servants had managed to clean and furnish it to Omaeda's specifications.

"Byakuya," Omaeda said, from the table in his dining nook, "come here."

Not surprisingly, Omaeda was entertaining. There were two men seated there, and Byakuya believed they were merchants, though he couldn't be too sure. He walked towards the table, stopping when Omaeda placed a hand on his lower back.

"This is my wakashu Byakuya."

One of the men made a small noise of envy. "Really, I should have become a samurai."

"He certainly is a sight," said the other. "There's nothing lovelier than a boy in his summer yukata."

Introduction and praise done, Byakuya was free to take his seat and began his lunch. Omaeda always had the rarest of treats when he entertained. Spices from Africa, cakes from England. . . if it passed through their port and was expensive, Omaeda would buy it. Byakuya helped himself to some curry, prepared at great cost by a passing Indian chef.

As Byakuya ate, the conversation around him dimmed into the background, and he watched the scene outside instead. The screen walls facing the courtyard had been thrown open, all the better to enjoy the summer before it grew too stifling. Byakuya watched with envy as some boys practiced sparring with one another. There was a small war going on, a dispute involving the Northern border. Every week Byakuya watched as some left for battle and others came back, all dressed in magnificent armor. Omaeda, however, was more than content to stay away from battle, to teach at the dojo and take care of any local disputes.

If Zaraki had lived, Byakuya thought, how many battles would they have fought together? How many enemies would they have killed? He could spend hours listening to the stories of samurai who came back, and when he sharpened his katana it seemed to vibrate with anger that it was not on the battlefield.

"Byakuya," Omaeda said, startling Byakuya from his reverie, "is there anything on the table that you particularly enjoyed? Let me know, and I will be sure to order more for you."

"No," Byakuya replied, "thank you."

He had barely even touched his curry. He excused himself and left to pack for the afternoon move, though he had few possessions with him at the dojo.

An hour later Byakuya found himself in a horse drawn carriage, heading to his new home. He watched as the dojo disappeared from view, watched as flat land transitioned to rolling hills. Soon the carriage pulled up to a large, intimidating gate of deeply stained wood and metal. The door had taken five metal smiths to craft, with magnificent decorations all along the front of it. Such an impressive gate had required the permission of the daimyo to be built, and was third only to the gates of the Kuchiki and Shihoin houses.

Two servants opened the gate wide enough for the carriage to pass through, and Byakuya was treated to the sight of the Marechiyo estate for the first time. It was impressive; not as large as the Kuchiki estate, but just as well-kept. The buildings were obviously tended to on a regular basis, and the gardens were perfectly manicured. There were flora there that Byakuya had never seen before, an exotic contrast to the traditional gardens he was familiar with.

The carriage rode up to a large structure, wooden verandas wrapping around it and a thatched roof overhead, and Byakuya deduced that this was the main house. His guess was proven correct when the carriage stopped and Omaeda gestured for them to go out. The walked in through the front door, and Byakuya took in the mahogany wood floors, the Persian rugs, the decorations both Japanese and foreign the hung on the walls and were displayed on columns. It was, Byakuya thought, a little ostentatious. His thoughts were interrupted, however, when a servant boy with his hair tied in a bright red ribbon ran inside the room and crashed into Omaeda.

"Oh! Marechiyo-san, I'm so sorry!"

"It's fine, Rikichi," Omaeda said, pulling Rikichi to his feet. He was certainly more lenient with his servants than the Kuchikis were with theirs. "What do you have there, boy?"

The question prompted Byakuya to notice that Rikichi held a small brown bag close to his chest, safely tucked into both arms.

"Oh," Rikichi said, smiling up at them, "Renji-san gave me some cherries. The sisters grew and picked them themselves."

"By Renji-san, do you mean Father Abarai? Hmm. . . " Omaeda's eye took on a contemplative tone as he smiled. "Priests lead a rather austere life, do they not? We shall be sure to invite him over one day; he will no doubt enjoy a night of luxury for once in his life."

Rikichi nodded enthusiastically in response.

"Why don't you show Byakuya to his new room? You can take the cherries to the kitchen later."

Rikichi nodded again and gestured to Byakuya. "This way, Kuchiki-san."

Byakuya followed Rikichi as the younger boy blathered on about something or the other. Something about how nice his Father Abarai was, and how foreigners weren't as bad as everyone seemed to think. Byakuya was scarcely listening; instead he was taking in his surroundings, taking in the place that would be his home until he came of age. He wondered, briefly, where the rest of Omaeda's family were. Omaeda's parents were long dead, but it seemed as though there was no one else to live with him here on the estate. . . and as Omaeda was a notorious onna-girai, his lineage would no doubt stop with him.

They soon came to a moderately sized room with tatami floors and a western-style bed. The wall had been opened out, and past the veranda Byakuya could see a more isolated part of the gardens. Rikichi was staring expectantly at him, and Byakuya realized the boy was waiting for an answer.

"Excuse me?" he said.

"I said, if there's nothing you need, will it be okay for me to go? I want to get back to the church."

Byakuya raised an eyebrow at that. "Did you not just come from the church?"

"Yeah, but, I promised I'd go back to help with some sweeping."

While Byakuya didn't exactly approve of a servant doing chores at someone else's home instead of his master's, this estate didn't belong to him. What the servants did was Omaeda's business, not his.

"It's no business of mine," Byakuya said.

"Great!" Rikichi said, face lighting up. "Bye, then!"

As Rikichi ran off, Byakuya took the time to look over his new room. As he walked past his bed his hand came down to brush against the sheets. The finest silk, of course, no doubt imported from China. He found himself in front of a lacquered dresser, and opened it to find numerous men's kimonos of the finest quality. But aside from that, and a low table that sat on his floor, there was nothing much to this room. Byakuya set his things down and went to explore the rest of the grounds.

As he stepped outside the room, Byakuya's eyes landed on a tall tree directly next to the wall, branches sturdy and staggered. It was an invitation if he ever saw one, and he made quick work of climbing to the top. From there it was only a quick jump onto the roof. His feet met tightly packed reed, and he looked over what he could see of the estate.

Byyakuya walked over the roof, taking everything in. The main building was shaped like a katagana ko, and was only a small part of the estate. Most of it was comprised of gardens, but from here Byakuya could also make out the armory and the rice silo. He could also see portions of the gate, the red clay tile roof of it wrapping around the entire property.

Byakuya walked more towards the west, surprised when he was able to see the plain white steeple of the small church. He hadn't known that Omaeda's estate was built so close to the foreign quarter of the city, and next to the object of Rikichi's affections no less. Speak of the devil, Byakuya could see a small figure of a person come into the church yard, and he assumed that it was Rikichi. Then Byakuya saw him, the man who must be the priest. But one detail of his person imprinted itself immediately in Byakuya's mind: the man had crimson red hair, the color of newly spilt blood. It was tied in a low ponytail and hung smooth down his back. It was beautiful, Byakuya thought. But then the priest disappeared inside the church, and that lovely deep red was obfuscated from his view.

Frowning, Byakuya made his way down the roof and back inside. He had never seen hair of that color, not even among the foreigners at port. It seemed a hair color more befitting of a demon, not a man of faith. But, Byakuya was sure, he would have the chance to see that shade of red again in the future.

---

A household's gate, Rikichi explained, was a symbol of status. Which led Renji to believe that the Marechiyo household was of rather impressive status indeed. The gate was opened,and the carriage rode into the house as Rikicihi bubbled on about the household's history and the recent renovation done on the estate. The boy was sweet, and Renji had high hopes for his conversion, but sometimes he spoke so quickly and so excitedly that Renji was scarcely able to make out the Japanese words.

Renji had insisted, of course, that the carriage would not be necessary. The estate was within walking distance of the church, Rikichi had proven that well enough with his countless visits. But Rikichi had been adamant that to refuse would be an insult to Omaeda, who was, apparently a very. . . generous man.

Renji watched the gardens roll by with wonder. Since he had come to Japan he had taken a particular interest in Japanese gardens. Their way of landscaping was so different from the geometric, rigidly structured gardens with with Renji was familiar. They had a structure of their own, of course, but one that was much more subtle, more natural. Renji didn't have too long to admire the grounds, though, because soon the carriage arrived at the main house and he was escorted out.

"This way," Rikichi said, pulling on Renji's long black sleeve.

Renji was led to an ornate room, the wooden walls covered with gilded designs. There was a low table in the middle, and the man who must have been Marechiyo Omaeda was seated behind it. He was dressed in one of the formal kimonos Renji had grown accustomed to seeing, and had a small smile on his face.

"Father Abarai," he said. "Thank you for joining us today. Please, take a seat."

Renji bowed low, as he had been taught was customary in Japanese culture, and took a seat.

"Thank you for having me," Renji replied. "I brought a gift for you."

Renji slid a thick, leather-bound book across the table. He had taken great care in obtaining it. once he did some research as to his host. It was the most luxurious Japanese-language bible that the church could procure, the words hand-written by a moderately-known calligrapher, the page edges gilded in faux-gold.

"How lovely," Omaeda said. His fingers traced over the gold characters embossed on the cover before pushing the book aside. "It shall look quite fitting on display in our library."

Renji nodded, a little insulted by the fact that Omaeda was basically admitting that he would never read the book. Still, Renji had no wish to belabor a point. It seemed as though there was a growing anti-Catholicism sentiment spreading throughout the country, despite, or maybe because of, the fact that the daimyo in Kyushu was now Christian. Already it seemed as though the shogun was restricting once open trade, more often than not to the disadvantage of Christian merchants. The fact being, the church needed as many high-ranking allies as it could get, and Omaeda certainly seemed high-ranking enough.

Besides, Renji had already committed one faux-pas since arriving on Oriental shores. He had been invited to the local daimyo's castle to speak of his religion, and had given an impassioned sermon that he thought would have converted any red-blooded man. The men in attendance seemed amused enough by his speech, until he came to speak of the commandments and various sins. He had just compared sodomy to an act more unclean than pigs when a silence spread over the room.* The daimyo had given a loud laugh, but his advisors were livid. For a moment Renji thought he might be executed, but he survived when they decided to simply remove him from the premises.

And so it was that he discovered that sodomy was not only practiced in Japan, it was held sacred. It had shocked Renji, but he did not believe the cause to be hopeless. He became a priest, after all, so that God's strength could help him to resist the very same urges. He saw no reason that God wouldn't help the men of this country as well.

"I must admit," Omaeda said, bringing Renji back from his thoughts, "that your Japanese is very good."

Renji smiled as politely as he could and nodded. "There was actually Japanese nun in the small town where I grew up, believe it or not. She took me in, gave me my name, and taught me the language."

"And where are you from? England?"

"Connaught," Renji replied. "A land just to the east of there."

"And how does Japan compare?" Omaeda asked.

"It's. . . different," Renji replied. "And not just the people, but the houses, the plants, the animals. Just yesterday, I thought I saw a silver fox dart out of your property."

Omaeda laughed at that, though Renji didn't know what was so funny.

"If you saw a silver fox," Omadea said, "you must have been lucky enough to see a kitsune. A fox spirit. I advise that you be careful; they are shape shifters and tricksters, and it's hard to tell if one is there to grant you fortune or bring you doom. Have you heard the story of how they came to live on this land?"

Renji shook his head no. He had heard some stories of Japanese demons and spirits, but not all, and had yet to meet one himself.

"It was, I believe, the great- great- grandfather of the current daimyo who first came to settle on these lands. A man by the name of Kurosaki Isamu. He was a ronin; a samurai without a master, though through no fault of his own. He was walking through these lands when, drifting along the shore of a small lake, he saw a light. One large white flame, flickering to and fro, suspended in a transparent globe. He plucked it out of the water, and it seemed to float in his palm.

"He was enraptured by this light. He was still holding onto it when a beautiful young women appeared before him. Initially she was colored just like any of us, with black hair and white skin, but she transformed right in front of him. Her hair turned to spun silver, and her eyes were like slits on her pale face. She begged for him to give her the orb back, saying that while it held no value to him, for her it would be a terrible loss. He was completely prepared to give it back, of course, but before he could do so she had offered him wealth and fortune. Well, he gave her back the orb, and she transformed again, this time into a silver fox. She was a kitsune, and the orb was, of course, her hoshi no tama: a part of the kitsune's soul. If separated for too long from its hoshi no tama, a kitsune will surely die.

"As the fox left, she told Isamu to settle on these lands. He did so, and soon saw his wealth grow, until he was lord, with samurai at his command. The land has only grown to this day, and to this day, the kitsune are free to travel over it as they please."**

Renji smiled at the story. He did find it quant, although he was not sure if he believed it. Though there was no reason why he should not. . . the Bible, after all, was filled with equally fantastic stories. A female servant appeared, then, holding a porcelain tea pot of white and pink filigree.

"Please have some tea," Omaeda said, as the woman poured Renji a cup. "These tea leaves can only be harvested from one mountain in Japan. I'm sure that nothing in England. . . or Connaught. . . can compare."

Renji frowned. Despite the fact that divinity school had instilled at least some bit of refinement in him, he still was not fond of the taste of tea. Even with milk and sugar. Still, he raised the cup to his lips, and took a long sip of the bitter brew.

"It's delicious," he said, not wanting to offend his host.

Omaeda's chest seemed to puff up like a peacock's tail. "Of course. You'll find that I have only the best in my manor. I hate to cut our conversations short, but you must know that I am a busy man. Please feel free to peruse my gardens and manor at your leisure; I look forward to resuming our discussion over dinner."

What discussion, Renji thought. He blinked in confusion as Omaeda stood up and left the room, but apparently the man was completely serious. Soon Renji found himself quite alone in the tea room. He wondered if Rikichi was going to come back, but that didn't seem to be the case. Well. . . the screen doors that formed the side wall were open, and Renji couldn't help but notice that the gardens beyond were absolutely beautiful. He supposed that a stroll through the gardens sounded inviting enough.

Renji loosened his collar just a little bit as he exited the room. He wished that priests' robes were not so stifling, but there was little he could do about the traditional garments. He walked past perfectly-manicured lawns, past vibrant green trees and blooming summer flowers. There was a large pond in the distance, and he walked towards it. He was walking by a weeping birch, separated from him by a stone fence, when his cross broke off its chain and fell into a rather large crack in the fence. He bent down to retrieve it, but the sight that awaited him made his knees go weak and sent him stumbling to the ground.

From between the crack in the fence, Renji could see underneath the weeping beech. There, laying on the ground, his head resting upon the thick, knotted trunk, was a Japanese youth. He was dressed in a blue and white yukata with short sleeves, cut so it fell no longer than his mid-thigh, revealing pale, slender legs. Black hair that looked as smooth as silk was tied back in a loose loop, though some shorter strands still managed to hang down to brush against the soft skin his face. The curtain of leaves behind him formed the perfect backdrop to his beauty, casting a pattern of light and shadow over his creamy skin.

Renji was frozen. He felt his heart race and his palms sweat. Not just because of the boy's good looks, which was undeniable, but because of what the boy was about to do. . . one hand was drifting downward, past his abdomen, into the space between his legs.

He shouldn't look. He shouldn't watch. Renji knew all this, and yet he couldn't tear his eyes away. He watched as thick eyelashes fluttered down over heated gray eyes, as a gentle sigh left those slightly parted lips. He watched as that elegant hand disappeared into the folds of the boy's robes, as it disappeared into his fundoshi. Renji couldn't see past the layers of fabric, but as the boy's hand moved back and forth, Renji's mind was more than happy to imagine.

And the noises. The ridiculously seductive noises that came from the boy's throat as he fondled himself. . . each one sent a shock right to Renji's groin. He could feel himself grow hard underneath the heavy fabric of his robe, even as he told himself that this was wrong. But the boy's hand was speeding up, and then. . . and then, the folds of his yukata pulled away just so, and Renji could see just the tip of a slender, pink cock as strings of white cream shot forth from it. The sight wrenched a cry from Renji's lips as he felt his own cock jerked in response. And without even having been touched, he found himself soiling the fabric of his vestments.

Gray eyes snapped up towards him, and Renji scrambled backwards. His head hit the wall as he backed into it, desperate to catch his breath. He grasped the fabric over his heart as he tried to say a Hail Mary in his mind, but it was filled with thoughts of what he had just witnessed. His eyes widened, however, when part of the youth's head appeared from between that large crack. Gray eyes, just a moment ago filled with so much fire, now regarded him cooly. A hand reached out. . . that hand, Renji thought. Hanging from its fingers was the polished wood of Renji's cross.

"I believe this belongs to you," the youth said.

Renji could not have been more ashamed of himself, could not have felt more guilt weighing in his heart. His eyes focused on the floor as he made a grab from his cross, not able to even look at the boy.

"Yes," he said, as he stood up and turned to leave. "Thank you very much."

He walked away as fast as his feet would carry him. He wasn't even aware of where he was going, he just knew that he had to get away from that boy. Eventually he was stopped right in his tracks when he collided into another body. The crash sent him backwards, but he grabbed onto slim shoulders to steady the both of them and keep them from falling.

"Renji-san?"

Renji looked down to see Rikichi's beaming face stare up at him, and gave a sigh of relief. Seeing a familiar face managed to calm him down, if only by a small amount.

"Renji-san, I've been looking for you. I'm supposed to take you to the dining hall."

"Well," Renji said, "I'm more than happy to let you."

He pat Rikichi on the head, not noticing when his physical touch brought a blush to Rikichi's cheeks.

The duo made their way back to the main residence, and soon Rikichi was opening a door for him. Renji could hear low conversation from within, could see the several men who were already seated and deep in discussion. Renji stepped through after it became clear that Rikichi was not, and found himself staring at a long, low table, set out with a feast. Dishes of every size and color covered it, some sitting on delicate place mats, some elevated on golden display stands. There were some items that Renji recognized, some he did not, but all of them brought water to his mouth.

"Father Abarai," Omaeda called, from his perch at the head of the table, "how nice of you to join us."

Seated next to him, Renji noticed with a flush, was the boy from earlier. Renji avoided looking directly at him, too scared of how his body might respond.

"Let me introduce you to everyone here. This is my apprentice, Byakuya, and seated next to him is. . ."

Byakuya. So that was his name. As Omaeda introduced him to the other men in attendance, Renji rolled the syllables out in his head, over and over. It really was, he thought with some embarrassment, a lovely name.

Now that he was here, dinner began. The other diners, perhaps encouraged by his presence, turned their conversation towards that of the "Christian problem" that was plaguing Japan. Renji, of course, did his best to convince them that there was no such problem, and that the country would only benefit from a Catholic influx of ideas. And all throughout Renji avoided looking Byakuya's way, lest his heart start to race and his tongue stop mid-sentence.

Every so often, Renji swore that he felt the intense gaze of gray eyes land on him. But there was no way for him to confirm, and eventually he dismissed the feelings as the heated imaginings of a distracted priest.

---

The space around Byakuya was filled with steam. The source was a bowl of coals near the center of the room, over which water was periodically poured. He sat on a wooden stool as Rikichi, behind him, scrubbed his back, using soft wool cloth and freshly heated water. It was a wonderful feeling to be attended to in this way; he had been bathing in cold well water for so long that he had forgotten how much he enjoyed this treatment.

"Is the water warm enough?" Rikichi asked, his voice echoing slightly in the humid room.

"Yes," Byakuya said, enjoying the feel of hot water running down his back. "It is fine."

Having Rikichi near him made Byakuya think about Renji. Byakuya had been amused when he had caught Renji watching him pleasure himself, and even more amused when Renji had spent all of that dinner trying not to look at him. Apparently, foreigners were a more modest sort of people. He had watched as Renji had tried, with great passion, to convince those in attendance that Catholicism was a faith worth converting to. It was a passion, Byakuya felt, that was misdirected. If Renji had been born a Japanese man, that fiery devotion to Renji's Christian God would have been channeled into more worthwhile things. . . such as the sword.

"Rikichi," Byakuya said, as the other boy lifted his arm to wash, "were you at the church again today?"

Rikichi smiled and nodded, a motion hard to see through the thick steam, despite their proximity to each other.

"What exactly do you do there?" Byakuya asked.

"Oh, well, if Renji-san's busy than I'll help the sisters with whatever they need helping with. But when Renji-san's there he'll tell me stories from the bible or teach me English, or sometimes he'll just listen to me talk about stuff."

"Does Father Abarai know how to fight?"

"Oh, no." Rikichi laughed at the thought. "Priests aren't samurai. They don't need to know how to fight to spread the word of God."

Byakuya frowned in disappointment. At times during dinner, Renji's eyes would burn with a fiery spirit as he espoused his God. It was all too easy to imagine those eyes burning on the battlefield, Renji's red hair blowing all around him as he cut down his enemies.

"Oh, but," Rikichi continued, his tone of voice becoming softer, "I think Renji would make a great samurai. He's really strong, you know. I've watched him help unload ships at the dock, and he can lift more than a lot of those merchant crews. And he's honorable, and dedicated. He's amazing."

"I see." Byakuya didn't ask any more as Rikichi continued to bath him, although his thoughts remained with the red-haired priest.

After Rikichi washed him, Byakuya spent some time just soaking in the lavender-scented baths. He knew that Omaeda would not be calling for him tonight; Omaeda was at the estate of the daimyo, along with other advisors and high-ranking samurai. They would be discussing battle plans late into the night; Byakuya wished he could be there as well, but wakashu were generally not invited to such meetings.

After the baths, Byakuya dressed in a night-time yukata of supple white cotton, leaving his hair down. He was in the mood for one of his nocturnal walks, though this time it wasn't just the gardens of the Marechiyo estate that held his interest. He walked towards the West wall. Of, more specifically, the portion of the West wall that separated the estate from the church.

It took him almost no time to scale the side of the wall, and soon he was standing on the roof of it. He had to admit that he was curious about the handsome priest, though he wasn't sure what he was going to do about the newfound curiosity. He sat down on the clay tiles as he looked over the steeple, made of a bright white stucco that the merchants had brought over with them. One of the rooms was still lit with several candles, and Byakuya could see two nuns doing their evening chores.

After awhile the back door opened. The first thing that passed through it was a small lantern, held out by a black clothed-arm. The black cassock of the priesthood followed, then Renji's handsome features and bright red hair appeared. Renji closed the door behind him and stepped outside, the light from his lantern casting itself over the grass and tombstones of their backyard cemetery.

Byakuya jumped off the gate and onto the church lands. The noise startled Renji, whose head shot to the side as his lantern shone on Byakuya. Renji's eyes widened momentarily before looking away, shifting back and forth like a cornered animal unsure of what to do.

"Umm. . . Byakuya. . . good evening."

"Good evening, Father," Byakuya replied. "It's rather late for you to be out, is it not?"

"Umm. . . well. . . I take a walk through the foreign quarter every night, before bed. It gives my constituents the chance to talk with me, if they so need."

And all this time Renji still hadn't looked at him.

"In that case," Byakuya said, walking up to Renji's side, "you won't mind if I join you. I also enjoy walking at night, and I don't believe that I've ever seen this district of the city."

Byakuya could hear an audible gulp from Renji's direction, but the other man had no good reason to deny Byakuya's request.

"If you must," Renji finally said, turning to lead the way.

Renji started to walk down the path in the middle of the cemetery, then through the small woods between the church and the street behind it. Byakuya stayed at his side, looking up every now and then. Renji's eyebrows were knitted together, his lips pressed taut. His gaze was focused directly at the ground before his feet, never wavering.

"Am I disturbing you?" Byakuya asked, because it was obvious that he was.

"No," Renji said, much too quickly, "of course not."

"Is it because of what you witnessed by the weeping tree?"

The question brought a furious blush to Renji's face, but was met with a long period of silence. When he did speak his words seemed very measured, very carefully selected.

"In the eyes of God," Renji said, "certain. . . indulgences of the flesh are not considered acceptable behavior."

Byakuya frowned at the response, disappointed. It was a tepid reply, not one that he had expected from the man. What happened, Byakuya thought, to those passionate convictions Renji had displayed over the dinner table?

"And what does your God have to say about those who are happy to be audience to such indulgences of the flesh?"

The blush on Renji's cheeks only deepened. "I've already done penance for my acts that day. I would suggest that you find your way to the Catholic faith and do the same."

Byakuya lifted his chin up in disapproval. "You speak as if you are so sure that what I did deserves penance. What right do you have to decide this, how can you be so sure that your standards are what is correct?"

". . . That's what it means to have faith," Renji replied.

Byakuya scoffed at that. "How arrogant to assume your views are what is right, and then rationalize it with such a lofty word as faith. From my perspective your religion is unnatural and arbitrary. Commit a sin, apologize, and all is forgiven. How is this not carte blanche for a person to do whatever he wishes?"

"That's not how it is," Renji said, his voice rising just a little bit. "It's true that the church will hear sins and assign penance, but this is only so the sinner can show he has genuinely repented. It's up to God to decide if he is forgiven or not."

"And why does your God worry over us so?" Byakuya asked, glad that Renji was no longer giving such calculated responses. Before, Renji had seemed almost afraid of him. Now, at least, he was rising to Byakuya's challenges. "Why does he care about such minutiae of our everyday life?"

"Because we are His cherished creation, created in His image. He holds great love for each and every one of us."

"Then why does he restrict us so? To give us urges and then force us to suppress them, God seems a cruel ruler indeed. Are you sure your God is not a demon in disguise?"

"Enough!" Renji shouted, eyes blazing.

Both of Renji's arms came up around Byakuya's sides, and Byakuya was surprised to find his back pinned to a tree. Still, Byakuya couldn't help but stir somewhat at the heated expression in Renji's eyes. This, Byakuya thought, was a much more fitting expression on the man.

"It is because of the Catholic church that I am alive today," Renji said. "I will not allow you to heap insult upon insult upon the church and upon God."

Byakuya leaned forward, his gray eyes just inches from Renji's brown ones.

"You are like a bow stretched too tight," Byakuya said. "If you're not released, you might just break."

He easily knocked one of Renji's arms to the side, and stepped around him.

"There is a passion inside of you," Byakuya continued, "and you are repressing it for the sake of your religion. There is not much that is natural about that."

"Religion is my passion."

Byakuya turned, surprised that Renji's answer had come so readily. The priest was staring at him, eyes smoldering in a way that sent shivers through Byakuya's body.

"You say it's not natural, but I don't see that your way of life is any more so. I've been educated on your wakashudo. Is it really so natural for a boy like you to lay beneath that plump, ostentatious man? To me, it seems an excuse for the old to partake of the young at their leisure."

Byakuya bristled at the insult to the sacred tradition.

"You don't sound as though you are preaching against it," he countered. "You sound as though you are jealous."

Renji paled at the words, all but confirming them. Before he could respond, though, some one's voice was calling. The words were spoken in English, but Byakuya could hear Renji's name spoken. No doubt one of his constituents, catching sight of Renji's lantern from the street. Byakuya had enough, anyway. He turned and walked home, leaving Renji to shepherd his flock as he saw fit.

When he got back Byakuya collapsed on his bed, enjoying the way his body sunk into the soft cushioned mattress. He felt wound tight from his encounter with Renji. He hadn't known what to expect when he had decided to visit the man, but he hadn't expected a argument and Renji's guarded jealousy. Still, the way that Renji had looked at him during the more heated parts of their discussion, the way his eyes had burned. It sent a shiver through Byakuya's body just to remember.

Byakuya closed his eyes as he imagined the heat of Renji's gaze, the defiant tilt to his chin. He hadn't been wrong, before, to imagine Renji on the battlefield. If Renji had been born a Japanese man, he would have been a samurai. Byakuya imagined long hair the color of blood as he reached down, his fingers pulling apart the folds of his fundoshi. The strip of fabric was pulled away to flutter onto the floor, giving Byakuya unfettered access to his nether regions.

He was already half-hard as he imagined Renji in his mind. He ran his fingers back and forth over the shaft of his cock, teasing. His fingertips moved over velvet soft skin, the touch sending small shivers through his groin. It wasn't enough pressure. His body wanted more, but he wouldn't give it. At least not yet. His touch moved downward, and he cupped his testicles with the palm of his hand. He rolled them together for a moment, before moving down further still.

Byakuya's middle finger brushed over his taint before finding its way to a small, familiar hole. He pressed against it with the pad of his fingertip, breath catching as his body opened easily. Without any more preamble, he pushed it in. Byakuya moaned as he fingered himself, pushing the digit in and out of his body. But it wasn't enough. As he pulled out his middle finger, he twisted it together with his index, then shoved them both in together.

His back arched as his other hand twisted in the sheets. It felt so good. It would feel even better, he thought, if it was Renji's fingers. If it was Renji fingering him like this. He knew with certainty that the man would enjoy the delights that Byakuya's body could give him, would enjoy the soft heat between Byakuya's thighs. He imagined Renji between his legs, pistoning in and out of him, his passion overflowing inside of him. . .

But, no, it still wasn't enough. With a gasp, Byakuya withdrew his fingers. His body twisted, so that he was on his stomach, hard cock pressed almost painfully against the bed. With one hand he reached for the bottle of oil kept on top of his nightstand. With the other he reached for his wakizashi, stowed underneath his pillow. He poured the oil onto the hilt of his wakizashi, generously coating it, before dropping the glass bottle and getting up on his hands and knees.

Byakuya took a deep breath as, hand on the scabbard, he positioned the end of his sword's hilt at his entrance. When the cold oil touched his skin it caused his hole to clench in reflex, but it opened up again quickly enough. Bracing himself, Byakuya pressed the hilt all the way inside of himself.

Byakuya cried out as he was breached and completely filled in one fast movement. His hole ached with a dull pain, but that did nothing to mitigate the pleasure that was spreading through him. He clenched his muscles around the intruding object, enjoying the way it spread him open. With a little imagination, it was possible for him to think. . . this was what Renji would feel like, moving inside of him.

He pulled the hilt out a few inches, then slammed it back in again. The movement wrenched a moan from his lips and set the nerve endings in his hole on fire. It was incredible, fucking himself like this with his own sword, over and over again. He couldn't help but moan and cry out as he moved it inside of him, as that cloth-covered steel repeatedly violated his hole. Eventually he felt his balls tighten, and reached down with his other hand to grip onto his cock. He only had to pull once on it before he came, calling Renji's name as he spilled himself onto the sheets.

Byakuya fell forward as his knees gave out, laying on his stomach with the sword still inside of him. He was too tired to pull it out, and there was some kind of satisfaction in its presence remaining there. Eventually, he fell asleep with it still inside of him, content and full.

---

Renji knelt on the hard stone floor beside his bed, hands clasped in prayer, rosary twisting in and out of his fingers. Please, God, he said, the words a whisper on his lips, give me the strength of will I need to overcome temptations of the flesh. The moonlight filtered in through the small window, highlighting the bible that lay in front of him. A reminder and a sign, Renji thought, as he continued in his prayer. And yet even as he spoke the words, images of Byakuya arose in his mind.

Byakuya, whose mere presence terrified him. You sound as though you are jealous, the boy had said, so sure of his words. And Renji hadn't been able to say anything back, because. . . wasn't it the truth? Since the moment Renji had seen the boy, he had been ensnared, and now he doubted his ability to persevere in the face of such temptation. He knew his weakness well enough to see Byakuya's strength. Whatever game the boy wanted to play with him, Renji had no doubt that he would lose.

And Renji wondered what kind of game that would be. Byakuya had appeared out of darkness of the night, dressed in the white robes of an angel. The cream of his skin had almost glowed under Renji's lantern light, and his black hair blew in the breeze like spun silk. Renji's breath had caught at the sight, and he froze before he could turn away, unsure of what to do. And Byakuya had seemed to taunt him, to question his faith, until he had become irritated and lashed back. But it seemed his response had little to no effect on Byakuya. And, just like that, Byakuya had disappeared back into the darkness.

Renji breathed in deeply as he finished his prayer. The calm he usually felt after communing with God was absent; only tension clung to his body tonight. He placed his rosary and bible on the small, wooden table that sat by his bed, and climbed in over his harsh sheets. He stared at the cracks in the ceiling until he was tired, and then he fell asleep.

A week passed before he saw Byakuya in person again. Although he saw him well enough outside of that. . . he saw him in his dreams, in his thoughts if he allowed them to wonder. He saw the proud tilt to that chin, the hard gaze of those eyes. Never before had another person so consumed Renji's thoughts.

Renji was lighting candles in the church when Byakuya appeared. One for the parents he never knew, and one for the nun who had taken him in. He looked up as he heard the wooden door push open, and quickly looked down again. He did not know if he was thankful or anxious that the sisters were away on a shopping trip and the church was otherwise empty.

"Good afternoon," he said, because he had to say something to fill the empty space between them.

"What tradition is this?" Byakuya asked, as he made his way over to the array of candles.

"We light candles so that our prayers are better heard," Renji replied. "Some might pray for favors, while others might pray for the souls of others."

"It's a little bit like lighting incense," Byakuya said.

Renji did not think it quite the same, but he declined to press the point. He wasn't sure why Byakuya was here, but the boy's presence unnerved him. He could almost feel his body heat, they were standing so closely to one another.

"Can I help you with something, Byakuya?" he asked, not able to keep his voice from sounding a little bit curt.

"Does my visit upset you?"

The question forced Renji to take a deep breath. It was his fault that he was looking at Byakuya with such lust-filled eyes; he should not take it out on the boy. "No. I'm sorry if it seemed that way."

"May I light a candle?" Byakuya asked.

"Yes," Renji said, a little surprised at the offer. "Please do so."

Byakuya reached across Renji to grab a wooden stick, then used it to transfer the light of one candle to another. As he did so his arm brushed against Renji's arm, sending a shiver through the priest's body. They were close enough that Renji could smell the scent of Byakuya's hair, some combination of soap and sandalwood.

"A prayer for this church," Byakuya said. "May it serve as a beacon for all Japanese Catholics."

Byakuya turned towards him, those pink lips slightly parted. They were, Renji realized, close enough to kiss.

"Was that alright?" Byakuya asked, his voice a throaty murmur.

Renji quickly took a step back and cleared his throat. His heart was racing in his chest. "Yes. Yes, thank you."

Byakuya took a step forward. "Are you okay, Father? You seem a bit flushed."

"Yes. . . well, actually, I'm feeling somewhat unwell. I should go rest. If you could come back some other time, I'll be happy to teach you about the Catholic faith."

Byakuya was frowning, but he nodded. To Renji's immense relief, he turned to go.

"You are a test," Renji said, under his breath. He said it more to himself than to Byakuya, and didn't realize that it was loud enough for Byakuya to hear. But it didn't stop Byakuya from turning to face him, something swirling in those large eyes. Renji stepped back a little bit.

"Do not be so arrogant," Byakuya said, accentuating every syllable, "to think that your God has put me on this Earth merely as a test to you."

"I apologize," Renji said, not wanting to get into an argument with Byakuya, not when he was sure the outcome would not be good for him. "Now, if you'll excuse me, confessional will be starting soon."

It was a lie, for which he would do penance later. Still, darting into the confessional booth and closing the door comforted him. Inside that small, dark space, he was able to calm his racing heart, if only by a little bit. He sat down on the wooden bench there, only to have his head snap open as the door was opened again. Byakuya stepped through into the tiny space, his knees bumping against Renji's thighs. The door shut behind him; it was an ominous, foreboding noise.

"Byakuya," Renji said, but his voice was a strained whisper.

Byakuya was much too close to him, this space was much too small. That willful pride was burning in Byakuya's eyes, and Renji wondered if he had gone too far in injuring it. Byakuya stepped closer, placing a knee on the side of Renji's bench. Renji could smell the boy's scent all around him, could feel his body heat radiate through the air.

"If I am a test," Byakuya said, not a little derisively, "then I should be sure to test you properly."

Renji gasped as a slim hand found its way to the front of his cassock, pressing down just so on the bulge that had formed there. Renji placed one hand on the wall, one hand on Byakuya's chest, but even if he pushed the boy away he would not go far in the small space. Besides, there was no strength in his limbs.

"Stop," he said, but Byakuya seemed to melt into his lap, even as that hand pressed down more insistently.

Renji's couldn't help but moan at the touch, at Byakuya's hand rubbing him through the thick cloth of his priestly robes. Byakuya leaned forward all the more, and then there lips were touching, Byakuya soft and pliable against his mouth. Renji had never tasted anything so sweet, and the gentle pressings of their lips sent vibrations right to his heart.

But then Renji gasped as Byakuya's hand found its way past the folds of his cassock. He blushed as Byakuya's hand grabbed onto his bare flesh, onto the turgid evidence of his desire. Renji tried, one last time, to push Byakuya away, but Byakuya grabbed his wrist. The sound of a door opening outside startled Renji from the world they had made for themselves in the booth.

"Be quiet," Byakuya whispered, "or one of your constituents will discover us."

Renji gulped as he listened to the sound of footsteps walk across the church floor. Whoever was out there, it sounded as though he walked to the pews before stopping, no doubt to kneel in prayer. Renji bit his lip as Byakuya pulled out his cock from between the stiff folds of his cassock. It stood, hard and dripping, between them, the flesh of it flushed red.

Byakuya let go, and started to climb off Renji's lap. Renji let out a breath, glad that the boy was stopping. Only to have to slam his hand over his mouth to keep from moaning as a hot, wet tongue touched the tip of his cock. Renji closed his eyes and made a sign of the cross of his chest. This was sinful and wicked, and he hadn't the strength to stop it. His whole body shivered as Byakuya's hand came to cup his balls, as Byakuya's tongue lavished a bath upon his engorged flesh. It swept up and down his shaft, paying particular attention to the sensitive curves and ridges of his head. It felt like nothing Renji had ever experienced before.

Byakuya's tongue left him. He did not know if he was relieved or disappointed, but before he could decide he felt his cock completely enveloped in wet heat. Renji had to bite his tongue to keep from moaning. He realized with a start that his flesh was now inside Byakuya's mouth, that Byakuya was sucking on him. His hips thrust up into Byakuya's mouth of their own accord. Even as his mind prayed for this delicious torture to stop, his body wanted more.

In a moment of weakness, Renji opened his eyes and looked down. It proved to be his undoing. The sight of Byakuya with his cock in his mouth, relishing it as though it was some exotic treat, went straight to his groin. Renji gave a muffled cry as he came, his hips jerking as his flesh spilled its sinful seed down Byakuya's waiting throat.

"Father Abarai?"

Renji froze at the voice, coming from outside. He stopped breathing as his heat raced. Whoever was out there had stood up, and was walking towards them. Renji could hear the footsteps, could hear them coming closer. They stopped in front of the confessional. Renji closed his eyes, sure that the loud beating of his heart was audible throughout the entire church. But then the footsteps started again, only this time they were walking away. He heard the door to the church open and close. Whoever was out there before, he was gone now.

Renji looked down to see Byakuya languidly stroking his still hard cock.

"There is so much passion inside you," Byakuya said, his eyes glazed, "you've just come and yet you're still so hard."

Byakuya stood up, and Renji watched in a daze as he reached under the folds of his yukata. In a moment he was pulling away a thin piece of white cloth; the white cloth of his fundoshi. Renji gulped to think that Byakuya was now bare underneath those robes. Without thinking he reached forward, his fingers wrapping around Byakuya's obi. He pulled it back, and it fluttered to the floor as the front of Byakuya's yukata parted.

Renji's fingers trembled as Byakuya's slender pink cock was revealed. How he wanted to lean forward, to take it in his mouth. But Byakuya, it seemed, had different ideas.

Byakuya climbed back onto Renji's lap. As he did so he reached behind him, fingers gripping onto the base of Renji's shaft. Renji's breath caught as the tip of it nudged against Byakuya's entrance, suspiciously wet. His palms, moist and clammy, gripped onto Byakuya's sides. He felt powerless to stop this, to do anything but let Byakuya take the lead. And then Byakuya was sinking down onto him.

Renji gasped and threw his head back. It hit against the wooden wall of the booth, sending a dull pain through his head. That was nothing, though, compared to the pleasure that was slowly enveloping his lower body. He felt like he was being consumed. Squeezed and held tight by soft heat. He cried out as Byakuya's body swallowed him completely, as he was completely buried in the youth.

Renji couldn't take it anymore. Lust and nature took over. . . he wanted more. Even as his mind wondered what more was, his body knew. With a cry he stood up, pinning Byakuya to the wall. Arms and legs wrapped around his body as he started to move, thrusting over and over into that tight heat. He felt like an animal in heat, but he didn't care. He could hear his cries and grunts filling the space around them, could hear Byakuya's pleasured moans, and they just spurred him to keep going. His mouth sought out Byakuya's flesh, sucking on the skin of his neck, lavishing it with kisses.

It felt so amazing. Why would God, Renji thought, make something so sinful feel so good. After awhile he heard Byakuya cry out. He felt the boy's fingers grasp at his robes, felt the boy's body clench around his still thrusting cock. The boy's pleasure spilled out onto the front of Renji's cassock. Renji gave a loud grunt before he came as well, pushing his cock deep inside Byakuya as his passion spilled forth.

Byakuya's face buried itself it the crook of his neck. Byakuya's hands tangled in his hair and held him close. They sunk to the floor of the confessional, both of them breathing heavily. The weight of what Renji had done had already started to bore down into him. No penance would correct this; only God could help him now. But even as Renji contemplated his doom, he couldn't help but hold Byakuya close to him, to breath in the boy's scent.

"Byakuya." He nestled into the boy's hair, pressed a kiss against his head.

"Renji." Byakuya looked up, their eyes meeting. He leaned forward, and then their lips were meeting too. In a kiss that was almost chaste, incredible given their circumstances.

Renji brushed Byakuya's hair out of his face. They were still joined together, and he would have to take steps to correct that shortly. "Byakuya, this can not happen again."

"Why not?"

Renji knew better than to start a conversation about morality with Byakuya. Byakuya was set in his beliefs, would never understand the Catholic way of thinking.

"I am a priest," Renji said, "and you are some one else's wakashu."

"You are my priest now," Byakuya corrected, "and if you had been a samurai, I would have been yours. How can your God make a sin of something that feels so right?"

Renji sighed as he pulled Byakuya closer. "I don't know."

The thought weighed heavy in his mind, but for now he just wanted to stay like this. God would surely judge him a sinner when his time came, but if it meant that for the moment he could have Byakuya, maybe it was all worth it. He had already gone down this path, and he didn't think he had the strength to turn around. He held Byakuya to his chest, and prayed for both their souls.

---

It was the day of the summer solstice. The foreigners used it to mark midsummer and celebrated with great fanfare. Over the years the Japanese had joined in, until the festival was a mix of Eastern and Western traditions. The port was full of booths selling Japanese deserts and Western sweet cakes. Lanterns and streamers were hung on every roof and every street light; even some of the ships were decorated. Japanese and foreigners alike strolled through the crowded port, laughing and wishing one another well.

Since dawn the street outside the Marechiyo estate had seen more than its fair share of travelers. Due to its proximity to the port, many villagers passed by on their way to the festivities. Byakuya watched them on their joyful strolls until it was time for him to go as well; he tagged along beside Omaeda at the festival, content to let Omaeda buy him treats and baubles. Eventually they came into contact with some of the other samurai from the dojo, and Byakuya ran off to spar with the other wakashu while the older samurai discussed politics and the Northern dispute.

He didn't stay for long, though. Once Byakuya was assured that he would not be missed, he stole away. He made his way past thrums of festival-goers, through a labyrinth of colorful stands. He left the port and found his way back to the street leading to the Marechiyo estate. The street that, invariably, passed by the church.

The sisters, he knew, would not be there. He had seen them at the festival, enjoying time spent with several of their parishioners. But there was one man who Byakuya had been quick to notice was not with them, and the realization had led him to come back here as quickly as he was able to.

Byakuya let himself in through the Western-style white fence in front of the church and made his way inside . He walked through the empty space of the church proper, and into the back where the most living area would be found. Byakuya had become very familiar with the walls of this church, had snuck away here as often as he could over the last few weeks. When Omaeda had been occupied, when the sisters had been elsewhere. To steal clandestine moments, each one culminating in a tangle of lips and flesh.

He found Renji in the garden, tending to a plant that Byakuya was not familiar with. Renji was digging at and then pulling up on the plant leaves; small brown lumps would then appear from the soil, attached to the ends of the plant roots, and Renji would place them in a basket. Byakuya watched for a few moments before making his presence known.

"Why are you not at the festival?" he asked, stepping close to Renji.

"I wasn't really in the mood for big crowds today," Renji said, simply enough. "Besides, I'm trying to figure why these potatoes are doing so badly here. Maybe it's not cold enough here for them. . . maybe another species would do better in this area of Japan."

Byakuya had no idea what Renji was talking about and had no inclination to learn. He surmised accurately enough that Renji was trying to introduce some foreign plant to Japanese soil, but he certainly didn't come here to discuss agriculture.

Renji stood up, basket in hand. "You should stop coming here, Byakuya."

"You say that every time, Father Abarai."

And yet he had become rather complacent in their affair. With each visit, it took less and less time for Byakuya could get him to capitulate. As much as he was against it, Renji surely felt the pull between them just as sharply as Byakuya did.

Renji turned to go back into the house, Byakuya following him. They were in the hallway, steps away from Renji's room, when Byakuya reached out. His arms wrapped around Renji's waist and his cheek pressed against the harsh cotton covering Renji's back. Sometimes he thought that this was enough, just to hold the other man in his arms, to feel the heat from his body.

"Renji. . ."

Renji tensed slightly, but he turned in the circle of Byakuya's arms, and placed his own around Byakuya's shoulders. He buried his nose against the top of Byakuya's head, in the softness of his hair.

"Byakuya," he murmured, his voice a sigh, "why do you test me so?"

"Allow me this selfishness," Byakuya said, as he turned his face up. "I have little else in my life to look forward to."

As his lips met Renji's, Byakuya realized just how true those words were. Each day that passed within the gates of the Marechiyo estate was a day without incident or activity. Like a bird in a gilded cage, Byakuya could do little but flutter to and fro, looking out at the world outside. Renji was his one reprieve from the ennui that had overtaken his life. There was something inside of Renji that reminded Byakuya, if only vaguely, of Zaraki, although Renji was undoubtedly his own person.

At any rate, despite his protests Renji did little to physically dissuade Byakuya. On the contrary, Byakuya felt arms wrap around him, felt himself being pushed towards the bed. It wasn't long until Renji's kisses grew hot and frenzied against Byakuya's mouth, until articles of clothing started to find themselves on the floor.

The first time Byakuya had seen Renji naked, he had been surprised. The thick, loose cassock of his priest's outfit did little to showcase Renji's body. And what a body it was. All lithe, hard muscle, it would have been the envy of any samurai. Byakuya had taken his time in exploring that beautiful body, his hands and tongue tracing over every ridge and crevice. He wondered, in passing, how a priest would have developed such a solid build, but was too distracted by other activities to remember to ask.

Once they were completely naked, Renji pressed himself down against Byakuya on the bed. Byakuya could feel his back sink down into the soft mattress, could feel Renji's chest on his own. Renji's biceps flexed on either side of his head, and he brought his fingers up to trace along one of them, even as their lips met over and over again.

It was pleasurable just to feel the weight of Renji's body over his. There was something so comforting, something so substantial about it. Renji's hand moved down the side of his body, over the curve of his ass, but Byakuya stopped it there. He broke away from their fevered kisses just long enough to breath out a request.

"No," he said, words heavy and labored, "I want to make love like this."

He moved his hands down to cup Renji's ass, and pulled it closer into him. They both gasped as their hard cocks pressed against each other, and the gentle contact was enough to let Renji know what Byakuya wanted. He nodded and started to rock against the boy as Byakuya's legs came to wrap loosely around his waist. Every rut of his hips sent pressed their cocks together, and the friction that was created sent waves of pleasure throughout both their bodies.

It felt amazing. It felt like every inch of their flesh was pressed together. Even without penetration they felt connected, and it wasn't long before their moans and pants filled the air. Byakuya could feel Renji's cock pulse against his own, could feel the heat of the other man's body. He clung to his shoulders, clung to his waist, felt the pleasure building up in his body. At some point Renji's hair came out of his ponytail and hung around them like a silk curtain, and Byakuya longed to run his hands through it.

"Byakuya. . ." his name on Renji's lips was a breathless pant. "I'm coming. . ."

"Not yet." Byakuya tightened his arms, gripped the man even closer. Just a little bit more, just a few more moments. "I want to come together."

Byakuya reached his hand down between them. He wasn't sure how, there was no space between their skin, but he managed. And then his hand wrapped around the both of them, together, pressed their cocks even more tightly against each other. One firm stroke was enough, and Byakuya felt his climax spiral out of him. He could feel Renji's orgasm as well, could feel both their cocks jerk in his hand. Their seed shot into the air, intermingling, before making a mess of both their stomachs.

After it was done Renji sunk down into Byakuya's body. Byakuya kept his arms wrapped around the man, but he let his legs sink back onto the bed. They were both barely breathing, the sounds of their heavy pants filling the room too easily. Byakuya nuzzled against the softness of Renji's hair, into the crook of Renji's neck. It was rare that they could enjoy their shared afterglow like this, and so he was going to savor it.

But then something out of the corner of his eye caught Byakuya's attention. At first it just seemed as though something was. . . off, somehow. He had to blink several times before he realized what it was.

"Renji," he said, tapping Renji against the man's shoulder.

The brief touch was enough to get Renji to roll off at him, and look up with a questioning gaze.

"You set your basket of potatoes down on the table, did you not?"

Renji turned to look. The basket was overturned; the potatoes strewn across the floor. As though someone had bumped into the table, or knocked them off. Byakuya quickly got up and made his way to the basket. There was something glimmering on the floor there, and Byakuya plucked it up between his fingers. A thin red ribbon. His mind raced for several moments before he remembered. . . didn't Rikichi tie his hair up in a ribbon?

Byakuya rushed to get clothed as Renji did the same. He ran out of the church, only to freeze. There, standing in front of the church's white-painted fence, a rather particular crowd had gathered. There was Omaeda, his face pale and eyes large as he watched Byakuya spring forth from the church, Renji following closely behind. Rikichi, hair down, was standing next to Omaeda, his glare accusing and strangely moist as he pointed at Byakuya. He was saying something, but Byakuya couldn't hear. He couldn't hear anything but his own racing heartbead, loud and gushing in his ears.

A few of Omaeda's high-ranking friends stood beside him, and a crowd of people were gathering to watch the spectacle. Giggles reached Byakuya's ears. Small laughs as some individuals sneered and pointed towards Omaeda. Omaeda had gone from shocked to looking as though he wanted to disappear into the ground. The once proud man now had his shoulders hunched over, and his eyes focused on the ground. He turned on his heel and started to stride away.

"Omaeda-san!" Byakuya rushed after him. He could hear now, could once again take in the noises around him. He caught up to Omaeda and placed a hand on the man's kimono sleeve, but Omaeda plucked it away. He stopped, but didn't turn around. When he spoke his voice was smaller than Byakuya had ever heard it, tinged with hurt and sadness.

"I know that I'm not the most handsome of men," Omaeda started, "nor the most courageous, but I have always treated you well. Did you really detest me so much that you felt fit to make such a fool of me?"

Byakuya didn't know what to say. He only stood there as Omaeda walked away from him, a lump forming in his throat. A hand pressed down on his shoulder, and when Byakuya turned he paled even more to see who it was.

"Grandfather. . ."

His grandfather couldn't even look at him. He was frowning as he stared to the side, his every muscle tense.

"Byakuya," he said, voice harsh, "go back to the family estate right now. You are not allowed to leave until you are told otherwise; I don't believe I need to tell you how shameful your actions are, or how disappointing."

As his grandfather turned away Byakuya felt nausea rush up into his stomach. The words and his family's disappointment were greater punishment than any sentence they could have carried out, and he had no one to blame for this but himself. He turned to get one last glance of Renji, but the man was talking with confused and angry parishioners, eyes focused on the ground. Byakuya turned and made his way back to his family home, knowing that to do anything else would invite even greater punishment.

Byakuya stayed locked up in his room for five days before anyone even said a word to him. He tried to practice his calligraphy, tried to meditate, but his thoughts were always turned towards Renji and what might happen to the other man. If something were to happen to Renji, it would be all his fault. Guilt from that and from having betrayed Omaeda assailed him, but there was little he could do about it now.

Finally, on the sixth day, a servant came to bear message to Byakuya from his elders. His sentence was one of exile: two years in the mountains west of Edo, where he would reflect on his actions in isolation. On the seventh day Byakuya was led to his see his grandfather. The older man sat at a desk, eyes studying the maps laid out there instead of looking at Byakuya.

"Grandfather," Byakuya said, bowing.

In response, his grandfather sighed before speaking. "To be honest, Byakuya, I have little to say to you. You were raised to know what was expected of you. You were raised to honor the ways of wakashudo. I have always expected you to become a magnificent samurai, and yet here you stand before me, disgraced. I only hope that in two years time you will be a better man than you are today. Your bag has been packed and an escort is waiting for you; you should leave before the sky grows dark."

Byakuya's eyes stung with his grandfather's easy dismissal of him, but there was one more thing he had to ask. "May I see Renji before I leave?"

"Do you really dare ask such a question?"

"No," Byakuya said, his voice catching a little bit, "of course not."

"You may go now."

Byakuya turned and left, fighting off the feelings that threatened to consume him. Just like that, he was being shipped off to unfamiliar lands and left alone, and he would not be able to even see Renji before he left. As he walked out of the house, catching sight of his horse and escort outside, he was surprised to see Rikichi waiting for him. The boy looked teary-eyed, a marked contrast to the angry glare he had been using on Byakuya just days before.

"Byakuya-sama," he said, jumping up to walk alongside Byakuya, "you have to do something!"

"I have nothing to say to you," Byakuya said, trying to keep his voice as even as possible.

"The priesthood is excommunicating Renji-san!" Rikichi didn't give up, just ran alongside him, trying to get his attention. "And they're making him go back to Connaught! I didn't know that when I told them, that this would happen. I didn't know that Renji-san would have to leave."

Byakuya did stop then, anger welling up inside of him. He turned towards Rikichi, his eyes set in a fierce glare.

"You wretched, silly boy," Byakuya spit out, not swayed even when his words brought tears to Rikichi's eyes, "I hope you're proud of what your actions have wrought."

But as mad as he was at Rikichi, Byakuya realized he had only himself to blame. He, not Rikichi, had been the one to disgrace the tradition of wakashudo. And it was his fault Renji was being excommunicated and exiled. He turned back around and made his way to his horse.

As his escort led him out of the city, Byakuya scanned his surroundings on the off chance that he might be able to spy Renji one last time. But he didn't so much as see a glimpse of long red hair. It was over. It was exile for them both. He would never again see Renji, not in this lifetime, and he had no one but himself to blame for it.

---

* This is based on an encounter between Jesuit friar Francis Xavier and the daimyo of Yamaguchi.

** This is taken from various kitsune folklore.


A/N: I'm really excited to write the third and final part of this fic, which I have a feeling may be a personal favorite. Hope you guys look out for it ^_^