Written In Blood

Jyuushiro swatted Izuru's red ass, and he could hear teeth grind against the bit gag. The piano taburette, shiny and black and solid, creaked as Izuru pulled against the thick, soft ropes of his bonds. Each of his limbs was wrapped carefully to each leg of the taburette. His cock was hard up against his belly, and the dowel Jyuushiro had given him as his safeword was still firmly within his grasp. So Jyuushiro continued with the punishing hits, watching the solid muscles of Izuru's ass bounce and darken. The plastic he'd spread to protect the floor of the main room of Izuru's apartment crinkled with each motion.

Izuru's reactions gradually grew jerkier, less controlled. When Jyuushiro saw tears start to trickle down from under the blindfold, he stroked the bruised muscles and they flinched against his touch. The pain levels should be high enough now to make the next relatively painless, as endorphins flooded the young fukutaichou's system.

Jyuushiro pulled out his gloves, laid out a sterile cloth, and unwrapped a scalpel to put on it. Jyuushiro liked modern technology, it often made things so much safer. He also got out a thin-walled crystal goblet before popping open iodine scrubs. He diligently scrubbed short lines on each side along five of Izuru's ribs. Ten copper-colored lines lay against scars.

Jyuushiro had had to pack what he thought he might need. The young fukutaichou had too many ghosts to live with in his apartment, and they had to deal with them where they'd been formed. Jyuushiro was pleased that they had discussed all of the details of this Scene in a fine French restaurant.

While in the hospital after Gin's attack, Izuru had wistfully let it slip from his lips that he'd always wondered what Le Petit Cochon looked like inside, but he'd been too intimidated by all the things he didn't know about foreign manners. Jyuushiro made the reservations weeks in advance. To make the plan work perfectly, he had spoken to every friend Izuru had, so that when he went to Kira's offices to ask if they could dine together that night, Izuru had had no plans. Even so, Iruzu had nearly bolted when they came to the doorway of the restaurant, but Jyuushiro's wistful request for company had strengthened Izuru's backbone.

The menu had done the rest. Jyuushiro had listened carefully as Izuru waxed eloquent about all the things he'd heard of but never tried, and took charge of the situation when the waiter and the sommelier asked for their order. He had asked questions of the two men, as he would have asked questions of anyone. Between Izuru's wish list and the waiter's intonations about various specialties of the place and day, and the sommelier's thoughts about what would go with those particular foods, Jyuushiro amassed enough data to overwhelm most men. He proceeded to over-awe all three before him by ordering a very specific set of courses, wines, and desserts.

By the end of the meal, Jyuushiro figured he'd succeeded when Izuru said he could now die a happy man. Jyuushiro dryly said that he'd prefer that that didn't happen, and was there anything he could do to help insure that?

Izuru had looked him in the eye and told him over coffee and delicate confections. Jyuushiro had counted that as a victory. When Izuru hesitated as the waiters came to refill their coffees, Jyuushiro had let them, but told the waiters to leave them alone for the next twenty minutes. Izuru blushed at that, but when they were out of hearing range, he settled and flatly told Jyuushiro what he needed, listing the Scene elements as if they were something he'd been working out in his head during the days he'd spent in the hospital.

Jyuushiro cleared his weekend. It wasn't just the Scene itself, which they set on Friday night; he knew that with the level of vulnerability the young fukutaichou was asking for, they'd both need the rest of the time to recover. The trust so quickly demanded in such actions would crumble away between them without additional time to just be together, after.

"Can you hear me?" Jyuushiro asked, and was relieved to see Izuru nod quickly. He was alert. "Good. I am going to cut one line and proceed up your back."

Another quick nod, and Jyuushiro saw knuckles whiten on the dowel. He had installed a thicker bit on the gag so that Izuru could chew on it; use it as a mouth guard so that he couldn't bite his tongue during the process.

Jyuushiro took a deep breath and felt the adrenaline hit his own system. He let his heightened awareness, strength, and speed help him slash the line straight along the curve of a rib toward the side of Izuru's body. He kept well away from Izuru's spine and stayed over the bone, cutting a clean line through scarred skin.

How Gin had left Izuru's skin, laced with random marks from whips, burns, and chains made Jyuushiro angry, but now he was leaving his own marks. He made them as clean and distinct as he could over the mass of chaotic negligence he could not condone.

The path of the blade made the man under him breathe in a shaking breath, but Izuru remained still. Jyuushiro didn't like to think too much about why and how it was that Izuru could be so self-controlled at being cut. It was impossible for Jyuushiro to do such a thing completely dispassionately; but he could control the actions his passion acted through just as he could on the battlefield. So he juggled concern for the vulnerable vice-Captain, his own very strong desire for the man who had made himself so vulnerable, hate for Gin, and an underlying electric jolt of being able to cut into a living human being on purpose.

Red blood flowed. He caught it at the lowest part of the cut in the thin-edged crystal glass he'd brought for the purpose. When the flow slowed, he opened another shallow slash on top of the next rib, and then the next and the next...until he had five equal shallow marks, each about three inches long over Izuru's ribs. Izuru was now breathing hard, covered in a fine sweat. He managed to keep still for each one, but trembled more and more between them as Jyuushiro moved up.

When he moved to Izuru's left side, the young man gave a low groan and shuddered as Jyuushiro stroked the unmarred skin.

"Izuru, this time I'm going to start at the top and move down, so that my hand doesn't touch cut skin."

The blond head nodded, but this time Jyuushiro read the signs in Izuru's body, and he was very careful to put his hand down on that blood-stained back before he set the blade edge in. Izuru twitched and gasped at the edge going in. Jyuushiro's solid contact made sure that the blade moved with the cut already made at Izuru's twitch. If he had been holding the blade above Izuru's skin, the twitch would have sent the blade into the skin to the side.

When he drew the blade over the skin, Izuru bucked and twisted under him with the cut, making low sobbing sounds into the gag. The restraints kept him from moving very far, but Jyuushiro grew worried.

Jyuushiro collected the blood, careful not to waste a drop, and braced himself for the jerk and twitch on the next cut. This one was as violent as the last, and he waited for Izuru to settle before he moved his hand. The cut made Izuru whimper, shaking; all his limbs trembled at how tightly he was holding them.

Jyuushiro sat back after that and thought. The combination of restraints had actually been Izuru's idea, and Jyuushiro wondered, a little, if the fukutaichou had realized how hard it would be. The odd part was that, from the scars on him, he'd been through much worse. Then he remembered the softly mumbled stories about how Gin had gotten off more when Izuru had struggled, showing weakness.

Jyuushiro took the glove off his left hand, and then slid his freed fingers into the sweat-dampened hair at the back of Izuru's neck. A shuddering breath from Izuru encouraged him. "I am Ukitake Jyuushiro," he said firmly. "Izuru, show me who you really are. I do not need you to fight this, accept it as I know you are able."

He tightened his grip in the heavy blond strands. A sound came out of Izuru that was a soft, slow moan that sounded as if it came from the bottom of his heart. The young man's body suddenly relaxed, breathing suddenly changing from shallow and fast to slow and deep.

"Good. That's better, show your strength," Jyuushiro said soothingly. "Three more, and we will be done."

Izuru gave him a quick nod, and this time his skin didn't flinch when Jyuushiro's hand rested on it. Steadily, Jyuushiro parted that mottled skin again, placing the scalpel on a sterile cloth to pick up the goblet with his right hand to catch the blood. Then he went on to do the rest of the cuts without incident.

They'd half-filled the narrow goblet by the time the last cut slowed. He carefully set it aside, and at the sound of the glass on the wooden table, Izuru let the dowel in his hand drop. The plastic crinkled as the wood hit. Jyuushiro pulled off his other glove.

He moved to Izuru's head, and seeing him slumped so bonelessly forward, he half-expected him to be in a dead faint. He quickly unbuckled the bit gag, it shouldn't have impaired his breathing, but it was good to be safe. He pulled off the blindfold, and then ran his fingers up along Izuru's jaw, past the blue choker, behind his ears, and then into his hair right at this scalp. As he lifted he heard another soft moan. Then he was caught by bright blue eyes, wide open and almost feverishly aware. Izuru's mouth parted, and Jyuushiro turned Izuru's head within his hands before kissing him hard. He was gratified at the hunger in the kiss that was returned, the low sounds of need and desire made his own breathing quicken.

When he finally broke off the kiss, Izuru panted softly, letting his head hang heavy in Jyuushiro's hold. "Sir..." he finally said, softly between pants. "I... can... I know you wanted to... close all the cuts... with kido, but... please, can you... can you leave them on me? Maybe... would you... is there a way to make it... permanent? So I can have something... something of you on me, too?"

"Just one of these straight cuts?" Jyuushiro asked. "Or may I simply add one more and let them heal as scars across the whole field of what's been done to you?"

"Add... add one more?" Izuru hesitated and then relaxed against Jyuushiro's hands, eyes closing. "Please do as you wish."

Jyuushiro chuckled softly. "If I add a full line across the top, then you will have the hexagram for splitting a mountain from the bedrock up... you wished to sunder yourself from your past and acknowledge the misfortune attending it, this will be an appropriate symbol for what you are attempting to do."

The laughter was so faint, Jyuushiro nearly didn't hear it, but humor laced the pain-thinned voice that said, "That would be so... you, sir, I think you'd better go ahead."

Jyuushiro kissed Izuru's lips softly, and did not mention that the other name for the hexagram was "flayed". The removal of outward appearances, a circumstance that favored honorable men, but destroyed all those who deceived.

He sighed and let Izuru's head back down, to hang heavy, as he put his gloves back on and he ran the tip of his knife an even distance above the other cuts. Since he wasn't trying to milk it of blood, he ran it very shallow, just barely parting the skin, slowing a little over the bump of Izuru's spine. Izuru lay still and relaxed under him, only the slightest hiss of a breath let him know that the other felt anything at all.

Blood beaded along the line.

"Was that deep enough?" Izuru's voice sounded sleepy, heavy with what they'd done so far.

"Deep enough for me, but it might not mark as thoroughly as the others."

"That's all right, you can always cut it again."

The sheer confidence behind that voiced thought made Jyuushiro smile. That the fukutaichou assumed that he would be easily accessible was a huge step from when he'd thought no one could be permanent after Gin had left. He'd done his best to simply be available to Izuru and this was ample reward.

"Yes. Let me dress these and we can get on to the next part."

"Aye."

Jyuushiro quickly pressed light dressings over each of the cuts. He hesitated over the long one at the top for a moment.

"Sorry, I'm going to have to use a liquid bandage on this one."

The groan he got at saying that made Jyuushiro huff a soft laugh. "It's not that bad, is it?"

"It stings!" Iruzu said, half-complaining.

Jyuushiro swatted him on his sore ass, getting a yelp, tugs against the taburette, and a protesting groan.

"That stung, too?"

"Yes... sir." Izuru huffed and then settled. "Oh, all right."

"Right." Jyuushiro spread the liquid bandage over the already crusting cut with a sure hand, and let Izuru hiss as much as he liked.

He then put away all the medical equipment, and unwrapped Izuru's arms and legs before rubbing them thoroughly. "All right, now try getting up."

Izuru carefully got up, stood, swayed, and leaned against Jyuushiro when Jyuushiro slipped under his arm. "Oh... dizzy."

Jyuushiro carefully walked Izuru across the room and back, liking that his steps grew firmer. He walked Izuru to his bedroom, set him gently by the writing desk, and went back to the main room to get the cloth containing his calligraphy brushes, a teacup filled with clear water, the glass of blood, and a roll of good paper.

The writing desk sat next to the giant bed made of steel, the headboard formed from metal piping rather than wood, and the whole, solid mass was anchored with stone. Jyuushiro, when he'd first seen the thing, hadn't wanted to know exactly why it was so solid; but he couldn't help but see the flecks of blood, the bright scarring against the corners, and the bends in the solid iron pipes.

No wonder Izuru had said he needed an exorcism.

"I don't have the money to replace the thing," Izuru said. "And, no, I will not accept a new one from you, but..." He took a sip of his coffee. "But... I'd really like to be able to sleep again. That is all."

The slender blond knelt before the writing table, his bandaged and bloody back straight as a board. Jyuushiro moved in and placed the glass to the right of the desk. He unrolled the paper so that it ran from the top of the desk to the bottom, and he set two bar-shaped paperweights at the top and bottom of the paper on the desk. He set his brushes out so that Izuru could see them.

"The fox-haired one?" Jyuushiro asked with a slight frown.

"Yes. I think that would be appropriate." Izuru sounded remote, a little tired as he reached for the black-haired stiff brush made from the tip hairs of a fox's tail. Jyuushiro saw his hand trembling as he picked it up, his poise uncertain as he held it over the paper.

Jyuushiro untied the sleeves of his kimono, and slipped the robes off his shoulders before moving in behind the slender man. Warm skin against skin and bandages, and he felt Izuru lean back into his support, the trembling easing a little. "So," he whispered softly against Izuru's ear. "Kitsune wards rather than appeasement?"

"I'm done appeasing him," Izuru said with enough steel in his voice that Jyuushiro smiled.

"Good then. Here..." Jyuushiro took Izuru's hand and the brush in his own, slender fingers laced with his. He slid his other arm around Izuru, brushing small hard nipples, shivering belly, spreading his hand across Izuru's center, warming the stone-still statue the young fukutaichou had become. "My research indicated wards in Sanskrit, like this..."

Shunsui's calligraphy was better, but Jyuushiro was more sure about how to write Sanskrit, so he wet the brush thoroughly in water, and then dipped it in the blood they'd so painstakingly gotten. With Izuru's warm hand in his, he stroked the thick liquid onto the paper, in swift, sure strokes, applying pressure for the turns, and making sure that the curves, hooks, and endings of lines had their own definition.

The quotes were from the sutras showing the power of seeing clearly, of not taking things on what they appeared to be. A string of characters for each corner of the big iron bed, though they simply wrote "Safety" and "Strength" for the perilous northeast corner. They brushed them together, and he felt Izuru grow stronger with each one.

"There..." Jyuushiro said quietly, as they finished the last of the four papers. "That should do it for the bed."

"There's enough left for one more," Izuru said quietly. "Would you... could I write something on you, sir?"

"On me?"

"You are going to... fuck me on this bed, right?"

"No, Izuru," Jyuushiro felt the young man stiffen at the bald denial. "I will not fuck you. I will make slow love to you, and pleasure us both. I do not wish to invoke what you're trying so hard to banish."

Izuru's head fell back on Jyuushiro's shoulder. "I... I would like that... taichou. That would give me some good memories to cover the old ones."

Jyuushiro pulled Izuru close, wrapping his arms about him quietly, and he felt the young fukutaichou sigh and relax back against him. "Good then. What did you want to write on me?"

Izuru swallowed and then turned his head to kiss Jyuushiro's jawline. "It will be my secret. I'd like to write it on your back."

Jyuushiro smiled at that and was glad that Izuru was taking the lead in this. He scooted back off the bed, stood, and untied his hakama and peeled it and all his kimono off. He left his fundoshi on simply for comfort's sake. "On the table or the bed?"

"The bed, I think."

Jyuushiro lay on the yielding surface of the bed and relaxed, letting anticipation go. The bristles tickled and then stroked, but the fluid feel as it flowed over his skin wasn't as disturbingly warm as he thought it might have been. It was just tacky, as sticky as thick ink, and he couldn't help but compare the strokes to what he knew. The stacked mouths of happiness, and then a tree by the open mouthed form for satisfaction, together forming the concept of true joy.

Jyuushiro felt himself blush, hands closing on the cool sheets as what Izuru had written on him sank in.

"Is it dry?" he asked, careful not to move.

"Just about..." Jyuushiro heard Izuru clean the brush carefully, and then felt Izuru crawl onto the bed beside him, trembling fingers running along his side.

"Lie down, Izuru, before you fall down."

Izuru settled against Jyuushiro's side, and Jyuushiro carefully turned himself onto his side. He smiled as Izuru slid in against him, rubbing his tired face against Jyuushiro's throat. The young man sighed as he nestled in against Jyuushiro's chest. Jyuushiro wrapped an arm about him.

"I'm... I might have to disappoint you, taichou."

"Hm? How so?"

"I think I'm about to fall asleep." The soft mumble made Jyuushiro laugh softly and brush a kiss across Izuru's hair.

"We still have the rest of the weekend, Izuru. There will be time for more later, besides, what you wanted was to be able to sleep, was it not?"

"True." Izuru's voice faded, and he mumbled, "Now I feel safe." He yawned a tremendous yawn and chuckled. "This is good."

"It is good indeed," Jyuushiro said quietly against Izuru's hair. He held Izuru quietly as they both drifted off to sleep and was glad for what they'd done together.

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Author's Note: This was done as a holiday gift exchange with cirrat on Y!Gallery, the prompts were piano taburette and a big metal bed with pipes for a headboard. This can be considered a continuation of the Ukitake BDSM stories, and is set after "One Moment". This was beta'ed by mysocalledhell on LJ.