The Limits of Denial

The cool night air of Karakura settled around him as he stepped free of the Senkaimon, the quiet peace of the deserted street soothing the impatience that had been gnawing at him for the last two days; he’d wanted to leave for the Real World immediately, but had realized midway through his packing that he couldn’t simply up and vanish without a word to anyone. As the 9th’s captain he held certain duties and responsibilities to both his men and the rest of Soul Society, ones that couldn’t be ignored in favor of his personal life. So he had changed into a clean uniform and sought out his 3rd seat, informing the man that he would be in charge in the absence of both taicho and fukutaicho and making sure the officer was capable of handling things while he was gone.

Kensei smiled to himself as he made his way down the quiet streets leading towards the Vizard’s warehouse; he needn’t have worried about his 3rd’s qualifications. In the months following the betrayal, Hisagi had taken over the running of the 9th, and the entire division had followed his lead. If he hadn’t been reinstated, Hisagi would have most likely been promoted to captain and his 3rd elevated to fukutaicho. He had been expecting some resentment from the ranks of his seated officers during those first few weeks, but there had been surprisingly little resistance or grumbling—a fact he attributed to his fukutaicho’s influence. Hisagi’s immediate acceptance of him had gone a long way to soothing any ruffled feathers his reinstatement might had caused, and Kensei knew that if the young man hadn’t been so welcoming, his early days as leader of the division would have been much more difficult.

Even though it was well after nightfall, he figured he would find his lieutenant at the warehouse; the younger man was utterly thorough when it came to work, and even though this little assignment had only been a desperate attempt at putting some much-needed distance between himself and the object of his desire, he knew his fukutaicho would be taking his mission seriously. A tiny stab of guilt wormed its way through his conscience at the thought of the younger man working so hard because of the Vizard’s selfishness; he’d discovered almost immediately that he had gained himself one of the most dedicated officers in the Gotei, one who performed his duties efficiently and without complaint—the exact opposite of his former fukutaicho in both work ethic and temperament. Not only did Hisagi perform the normal duties of division lieutenant, he also had taken over the running of the Seireitei News, a job Kensei had been all too happy to let him keep. The reinstated taicho had no interest in publishing, while his fukutaicho clearly had a passion for it; the normally somber young man had been fairly radiating enthusiasm as he’d taken Kensei on a tour of the newspaper’s office, introducing him to the officers that staffed the News who eyed the Vizard warily, as one would a large, hungry predator. He’d only vaguely understood Hisagi’s talk of circulation and subscriptions and his hopes for the paper’s future, but he’d known that he could leave the paper in his fukutaicho’s capable hands without worry. As the weeks turned into months, he had been grateful for that decision; his lieutenant’s duties as editor-in-chief took him away from their shared office twice a week, allowing Kensei to continue denying his attraction for that much longer. Of course, he had been all too aware of the dark-haired shinigami’s absence, and had found himself covertly studying the other man that much more closely when he returned to work the following day, the tension that had built inside him when he was gone easing, replaced by another sort of tension that saw him lying in his bed with his hand wrapped around his cock, determinedly not thinking about his lieutenant as he stroked himself to completion. On the days following those kinds of nights, he would find himself snarling at each and every member of his division, until they were all tiptoeing about him in fear of rousing his ire, and he’d finally decided that drastic measures had to be taken before he alienated the entire division.

He’d ordered Hisagi to Karakura on one of those days he spent in the newspaper’s offices, going out of his way to seek him out instead of suffering through one more night of frustration and fantasy that always ended with the image of his fukutaicho spread out beneath him. His lieutenant had been poring over submissions for the newspaper’s next edition at his desk, engrossed in whatever he had been reading, and Kensei had allowed himself the guilty pleasure of watching from the doorway. For the thousandth time since the silver-haired Vizard had returned to Soul Society, he had found his gaze hungrily drinking in that all-too serious face, memorizing the minute changes in expression as the other man read, unwilling fascinated as he watched his lieutenant at work. A full minute had passed before he’d been able to shake himself free of his reverie and he’d cleared his throat to gain the black-haired man’s attention—only to find himself fighting back a smile when Hisagi had glanced up and he’d caught sight of the smudge of ink decorating one high cheekbone, just beside the bold black lines of the ‘69’ tattoo marking the young man’s face. His fingers had itched with the desire to reach out and wipe that smudge away, and he’d curled his hand into a fist to prevent him from doing just that…

Kensei grinned to himself as he neared the warehouse; if his mission was successful he wouldn’t have to suppress those sorts of desires any longer. If Hisagi were his lover he could touch the other man whenever he liked, though he would save most of his caresses for the privacy of the bedroom; his reserved fukutaicho would most likely protest having sex in the office, though perhaps over time Kensei would be able to talk him into trying it.

Picturing the younger man spread out across the shining surface of his mahogany desk, gazing up at him with lust-filled eyes and wantonly sprawled limbs, the silver-haired Vizard felt himself grow achingly erect and was thankful for the loose cut of his cargo pants. His former compatriots would tease him mercilessly if they noticed him walking around with a hard-on, and though he didn’t embarrass easily, he was sure one or more of them would gleefully point it out to Hisagi. No, that was not at all how he wanted his fukutaicho to discover the reason for his taicho’s sudden appearance.

“Oi! It’s about time you showed up!”

Jerked from his musings at the sound of that belligerent voice, he focused on his surroundings to find Hiyori leaning in the open doorway of the warehouse, scowling up at him.

“Good to see you too, Hiyori,” he murmured dryly, but her scowl only deepened as she turned her back on him, entering the crumbling building without another word, leaving him to follow.

Face not betraying his rising anticipation, his eyes swept the dimly-lit interior of the building he had called home for over a century, searching for his lieutenant’s familiar black-clad form, frowning when he didn’t see Hisagi. Rose was seated on his favorite ratty old sofa, softly strumming a melody on his guitar while Love reclined beside him reading a manga, most likely one that he had borrowed from Lisa. The former fukutaicho of the 8th division was seated across from the two men in an armchair that matched the sofa for rattiness, long, bare legs swinging gently as she flipped a page of her own book, engrossed in whatever she was reading.

“Kensei!”

His attention was yanked away from the three Vizard by a happy screech that had him wincing, turning as a blur of green, white and orange came flying towards him from across the open room. He caught Mashiro as she launched herself at him, a reluctant grin twitching at the corners of his mouth as her slim arms wrapped around his neck with near-choking strength. So maybe he had missed her just a little bit…

“I see the prodigal returns. Did you get bored of Soul Society already, Kensei? Or did the shinigami kick you out?”

Shinji emerged from the shadows, head tilted down so only his smile was visible beneath the brim of his hat, and Kensei gently pried his former lieutenant’s arms from his neck, setting her down carefully as he turned towards the blond, his own teeth showing as he grinned down at the skinny Vizard who had been their de facto leader.

“Neither. Aren’t I allowed to come by and say ‘hi’ once in awhile?” he asked, feeling the weight of the others’ stares on him as he gazed steadily down at Shinji. The former taicho of the 5th lifted his head, a touch of bitterness showing in his brown eyes as he examined the bigger man in silence, taking in the familiar cargo pants and jersey, making Kensei thankful that he had decided against wearing his uniform and haori. Though Yamamoto’s offer had been extended to them all, Kensei had been the only one who had chosen to return to Soul Society, the others having decided they were happier in the Real World; his cool reception by the rest of the Visoreds—with the exception of Mashiro, of course—made him realize that they had been more upset by his leaving than he had thought and left him wondering if he had made a mistake in sending Hisagi to them.

“Oh? So this is a social call? You finally remembered your friends? Or are you here for some other reason—like a certain black-haired shinigami?” Shinji asked slyly, customary smile back in place as he cocked his head to one side, and Kensei mentally cursed himself for forgetting that the blond was far more perceptive than he appeared. Still, it wouldn’t do to let his consternation at being so easily read show.

“I’ve been a little busy,” he replied dryly, earning a derisive snort from one of the three behind him, but he didn’t bother turning to see who, his gaze steady on the skinny man in front of him. His impatience had returned, but he reminded himself that he had waited six months already—a few more minutes wouldn’t hurt if it meant soothing Shinji’s obviously ruffled feathers. The ex-captain’s smile disappeared, his expression turning serious as he studied the taller man.

“You look tired, Kensei. They giving you trouble over there?” he asked finally, and the silver-haired Visored felt the tension coiling inside him vanish at the concern he heard in the blond’s voice. One corner of his mouth twitched upwards in a smile as he shook his head.

“It’s like I never left. To be honest, I had expected some resistance, but the men took Hisagi’s lead and have been very welcoming.”

“So you get along with your new fukutaicho then?” Shinji asked lightly, a strange gleam appearing in his eyes—one that spelled trouble. Kensei had seen that particular gleam before, usually right before the blond said or did something outrageous, and a note of disquiet slid down his spine at the sight of it now, in relation to his mention of the young shinigami.

“He’s a good kid,” he said cautiously, wondering what Shinji was up to, and laughter erupted behind him.
“Oh yes—he’s a very good kid. No matter what we do he remains unfailingly polite and respectful—though I think he’s finally lost his patience with us. He only lasted an hour today,” Love snickered, and Kensei turned to face him, his expression thunderous.

“What the hell are you talking about, Aikawa?”

“Eh, Shuuhei-kun is so serious, and we thought you didn’t like us anymore, so we played a few jokes on him is all,” Mashiro chirped from beside him, dragging his attention away from Love and down to her. She was beaming up at him, eyes wide with feigned innocence, and he had to curb to the urge to throttle her—to throttle them all. He knew exactly what kind of ‘jokes’ they liked to play—he would be lucky if Hisagi even deigned to speak with him after this, let alone indulge in any kind of physical relationship with his taicho.

“You played a few jokes on him,” he stated flatly, and she nodded cheerfully. Either she didn’t notice the dangerous undercurrents swirling through his reiatsu or she was ignoring them on purpose.

“Well, not really jokes. We just ignored him for the most part—though Mashiro enjoyed playing with his hair. He looks adorable in pigtails.”

Kensei could only blink, trying to imagine his serious fukutaicho with his hair tied up in clips and ribbons, and the resulting mental image was far too appealing, especially considering his present company.

“My, my—you should see your face, Kensei. Do I even want to know what kind of perverted thoughts are circling about in your brain at the moment?” Shinji asked teasingly, only to receive a withering glare from the silver-haired Vizard.

“That’s rather rich coming from you, Shinji,” Kensei growled, but the skinny ex-captain’s smile merely widened.

“Oho! He doesn’t know, does he? The kid’s got absolutely no clue that his beloved hero wants to toss him down and fuck him senseless!”

Kensei felt his eyebrow twitch in response and only just managed to contain his rising growl, silently damning the blond for the unwelcome reminder that Hisagi viewed him not as a man or even a respected taicho but as some sort of savior to be placed atop a lofty pedestal and admired from afar—though to be fair to his fukutaicho, the kid had quit the awestruck groupie act fairly quickly, once Kensei had put his foot down on that sort of behavior. He didn’t need nor want that sort of worship, especially not from his young lieutenant.

“You know, if you wait too long someone else might come along and snatch him up—he’s actually rather attractive if one overlooks the dour personality and the scars and tattoos.”

Don’t hit him, don’t hit him, don’t hit him.

Oh, but he wanted to—his hand fairly itched with the desire to smash Shinji’s grinning face.

“Oi! Knock it off, Baldy! I don’t feel like cleaning up your blood tonight!” Hiyori suddenly appeared from wherever she had been hiding, smacking the blond in the head with her sandal. The mounting need to do violence to the other man vanished at the normalcy of the scene, one he had witnessed thousands of times over the years, and he felt the tension inside him melt away. Ignoring Shinji’s predicament, he turned back to the three Visored sitting nearby.

“I take it Hisagi isn’t here,” he stated casually, hoping one of the three more level-headed members of the little group would be able to tell him where his fukutaicho was.

“He’s been gone for hours. Urahara-san mentioned that he’d been returning later and later each night, but since the War ended the number of Hollows hanging about Karakura has decreased—you’ll probably find him back at the shouten by now,” Lisa commented disinterestedly, not bothering to look up from her manga. Kensei frowned at the cryptic statement, wondering what the hell the number of Hollows in Karakura had to do with his lieutenant, but he knew asking her for an explanation would do him little good; unlike Hiyori and Shinji, the former fukutaicho of the 8th division showed her annoyance in far more subtle ways. He was just going to have to find out what she meant for himself.

“Kensei.”

He’d started for the door without a further word, unease coiling through him now, but paused when she called his name, glancing back to find her gazing at him with a somber expression.

“Yeah?” It came out rougher than he’d intended, but he was suddenly tired and more than a little irritated by his former companions’ reception. To her credit she didn’t even flinch, instead offering him a tiny smile.

“Good luck—and don’t do anything rash,” she said softly. He held her gaze for a long moment before nodding, one corner of his mouth quirking upwards in return.

“Thanks, Yadomaru. I’ll be back in the morning.”

He didn’t bother waiting for a reply, leaving the warehouse and flash-stepping towards the shouten where he would hopefully find his lieutenant.

The silver-haired Vizard bit back a curse at the sight of the shopkeeper seated on the steps leading up to the porch at the rear of the shop, those sharp, sharp eyes glittering from the shadows cast by his ever-present hat as he watched Kensei’s approach.

“Good evening, Muguruma-kun—or should I say ‘Muguruma-taicho’?” The greeting was delivered in an unusually serious tone, one rarely heard from the normally playful ex-taicho and the reinstated captain paused at the foot of the stairs, wondering what had caused the change in the shopkeeper’s usual demeanor.

“What’s with the sudden formality?” he asked bluntly, gazing down at the seated man suspiciously. Instead of replying, however, Urahara rose to his feet, padding barefoot across the porch to the open door of the shop.

“Shuu-kun just left his bath and is preparing for bed—I suggest you do the same and wait until morning to let him know you’re here. Tessai readied a room for you down the hall,” the blond said quietly as he stepped inside, waiting for Kensei to follow before closing and locking the door. The silver-haired man didn’t bother asking how Tessai even knew he would be coming; like Urahara, the former commander of the Kido Corp. seemed to possess an almost uncanny knack of ferreting out information. He followed his host deeper down the hall, amazed as always at how much bigger the shouten was on the inside in relation to its somewhat humble exterior; he’d long ago given up on trying to figure out how the shopkeeper had managed to twist the laws of space and dimension to suit his needs as trying to think like the brilliant ex-taicho only resulted in making his head ache. He merely accepted the fact that Urahara was a genius and left it at that.

The shopkeeper paused in front of a door, glancing back at Kensei. “Good night, Muguruma-kun. Please don’t do anything rash.”

With that said, the blond continued down the hall, leaving the Vizard scowling after him. First Yadomaru, and now Urahara—what the hell did they expect him to do?

‘They know what we want. He’s so close, so vulnerable--Ours.’

His Hollow made itself known, its voice cajoling, tempting; he could feel his fukutaicho’s nearness, the subtle brush of Hisagi’s reiatsu against his skin a caress that had the Vizard’s control slipping. He was so damn close…

‘Kensei, don’t do anything foolish. Don’t do something that you will regret later—morning is soon enough.’

Tachikaze’s warning went unheeded as Kensei moved further down the hall, stopping in front of a blank door only a few feet from his own room. He could sense his lieutenant just on the other side, heard the faint rustle of fabric sliding against skin and was unable to prevent himself from reaching out, sliding the shoji open a crack. He told himself he just wanted a glimpse of the younger man, that he would be satisfied with a quick look inside and that once he had seen his fukutaicho he would take himself off to bed…

Amber eyes widened as his gaze fell on his lieutenant and it was all he could do to stifle a groan as lust exploded inside him.

Most of the room was hidden from view, but the futon was in direct line with the door, softly illuminated by the light cast by a single lamp. His fukutaicho lay atop the covers, dark sleeping yukata falling open along either side of his lean body to reveal a mouth-watering expanse of pale golden flesh. Kensei shuddered as a soft moan tore from Hisagi’s throat, one hand sliding up his chest while the other slipped downwards, long fingers curling about a straining erection and stroking slowly, slim hips rolling with a hypnotic grace that held the watching man transfixed. He knew he should leave, that he was violating his fukutaicho’s privacy, but he couldn’t move, afraid to alert Hisagi to his presence.

Questing fingertips sought and found a dusky nipple, circling teasingly before pinching firmly, eliciting a gasp that was half-pain and half-pleasure; the erotic sound loosened Kensei’s control another notch, forcing him to grip the doorframe in a white-knuckled grasp as his cock hardened painfully. His imagination was nothing compared to the reality before him. The silver-haired Vizard watched helplessly as that hand moved upwards, gliding over the tempting arch of a submissively-bared throat, biting back a possessive growl at the display as his Hollow came roaring to the surface. His fukutaicho’s whimper of raw need almost shattered his control, the sound a siren’s song swirling around him, calling to everything dark and possessive and primitive inside the older man.

Two slender digits slipped past parted lips, his lieutenant suckling his fingers, wetting them thoroughly before sliding them free and back down his body; Kensei swallowed hard as the dark-haired man stroked his damp fingers lower and lower, legs parting and his far knee bending to give the watching Vizard a perfect view of those teasing fingers slipping down behind his sac, seeking out the tiny pucker of his hole. Amber eyes narrowed at the breathy, pain-filled moan, shaking him from his lust-induced haze, and he tore his gaze from the entrancing sight of Hisagi’s lower body to look at his face, frowning when he saw the furrowed brow and tightly closed eyes that indicated the kid was unused to this. Kensei couldn’t help the sense of possessive satisfaction that rose within him at the realization, nor did he mind the echoing of his Hollow’s triumphant laugh as it too understood that the one it had chosen as its ‘mate’ was untainted; even Tachikaze held himself silent and watching, his earlier disapproval vanishing as he too fell under the spell the young man unknowingly was weaving.

A soft cry drew his attention away from his Inner World and back to the dark-haired young man writhing slowly on the bed only a few feet away from where the silver-haired man stood watching; he drank in the vision of his lieutenant’s pleasure, his own body throbbing for a release. He held himself back, not wanting to miss a single moment of this private show; no matter what happened after this night, he would always have this memory of Hisagi to cherish.

Kensei knew exactly when the kid found his prostate; dark eyes flew open on a rough moan, his long, lean body bowed off the bed, head turning to press one cheek against his pillow as both hands quickened their pace between his long legs. It was one of the most beautiful sights Kensei had ever been fortunate enough to witness…

“Taicho!”

His fukutaicho’s climax was torn from him with a keening wail, the title both plea and promise to the man watching unseen from the doorway; savage joy and possessiveness filled Kensei at the sound, echoed by his Hollow’s exultant roar. Tachikaze sighed deeply, contentment radiating from the spirit in something akin to both pleasure and blessing. For the first time since his return to Soul Society, Kensei felt as if he had come home. He watched as his lieutenant’s lean body shuddered through the aftershocks of his orgasm, his hand slowing as he milked himself, moaning softly as he rode out the last waves of pleasure before falling limply back against the futon, whimpering softly as he slipped his fingers free of his body. Admiring the thoroughly debauched picture his fukutaicho made sprawled languidly across his bed, sweat-dampened limbs gleaming in the soft glow of the lamplight, glistening seed spattered across his belly and chest and fingers, he found himself smiling faintly—a smile that faded abruptly when he heard a quiet sob leave the other man’s throat. Sharp amber eyes flew to Hisagi’s face just as the young man threw his arm across his eyes, hiding his expression, but Kensei had caught the abject misery etched across his fukutaicho’s face in that split second; the dark-haired young man sobbed again, and then his body was shaking with the force of his tears, and Kensei could only stare at him through the tiny gap in the door in dismay. The joy he had felt only moments ago died in the face of his lieutenant’s heartbroken tears, and as much as he wanted to step inside that room and offer comfort, he was more afraid of screwing things up even further. He had spied on a private moment, one he was never meant to see, and his lieutenant would be mortified if he knew his captain had seen him.

The Vizard forced himself to close the door and allow Hisagi his privacy, reluctantly turning away and padding back down the hall to his room silently. He held onto the reminder that his fukutaicho had called out ‘taicho!’ in his moment of climax, and though there were plenty of captains in Soul Society, he was the only one the dark-haired young man called by title alone. For now it was enough to know that his lieutenant desired him; tomorrow he would take steps to discover how much, and if there was even a possibility that Hisagi would be interested in taking a more permanent place at his captain’s side.

Letting himself into his own room, Kensei readied himself for bed, his mind caught up in possible plans of action that he would implement come morning.