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Demented Ink.
Bleach Fanfiction // Closet Games // Chapter 5 
31st-Mar-2010 10:15 am
cig mouth tie
Author: Darkprism
Title: Closet Games
Rating: Mature
Pairing: Renji & Byakuya (Ren/Bya & Bya/Ren)
Word Count: ~44,000 in total
Warnings: M/M explicit sex, angst, language, mild kink, toys, voyeurism, did I mention sex? There's lots of it.
Notes: This story is set in my world, Monoshizukanohi. There are minor references to Naruto characters as they exist in that world.
Summary:

Life's good for Abarai Renji and gets better when he meets a mysterious man in a bookstore erotica aisle. But what starts out as a casual fling quickly turns into something more. Who is this man who refused to tell Renji his name? And what will Renji do now that he's fallen for him?



“A hook in the wall?” Shuuhei asked, eyes intent.

“Yep,” Renji nodded and swallowed a mouthful of insanely overpriced beer.

“With a latch?” Shuuhei pressed.

“You gonna make me repeat everything all night or just when I talk about the bondage shit?” Renji asked, cocking a brow.

Shuuhei frowned and ignored the sarcasm. “So was it an actual hook or more like a-”

“Guys. Really?” Ichigo pressed a hand to his forehead and looked around somewhat sheepishly. “This conversation is bad enough without the rehashing.”

“Quite right, Ichigo,” Kisuke agreed. He looked at Renji with a serious expression from where he reclined in his chair, one leg propped on the other knee. “Leave the details for later. I believe you were tied up, hooked to a wall, and were about to tell us what happened next.”

“Right,” Renji agreed. “So then-”

“For fuck’s sake!” Ichigo hissed. “Can’t we leave this until we’re at the damned bar? This is fuckin’ Tobi’s man. You don’t talk about this kind of thing in a five-star restaurant.”

Renji snorted. “You just hate hearin’ about me gettin’ lucky.”

“Lucky?” Ichigo retorted. “You blow some guy in a bookstore and a fancy hotel and don’t hear from him in, what’s it been, two months? And this is somehow lucky?”

Renji glared at Ichigo. Leave it to this bloody ass to pick out the most painful details and throw them in Renji’s face. He opened his mouth to give a suitable reply but a waiter appeared to lay out dessert.

“You need to win more late-night radio contests, Ichigo,” Shuuhei commented after the waiter left, eying his cheesecake greedily.

“Yeah, and invite people who won’t talk about gay sex all through dinner while I’m at it.”

“Urahara’s straight and you don’t see him whining, now do ya?” Renji asked.

Ichigo rolled his eyes. “Just ‘cause Kisuke’ll listen to anything involving sex-”

“I draw the line at farm animals,” Kisuke interjected around a mouthful of sorbet.

“Comforting. Really.” Ichigo forked key lime pie into his mouth and chewed with vigor.

“You were the one who wanted details anyway,” Renji muttered.

Ichigo made a protesting noise. “What I said was that I was pissed you didn’t tell us weeks ago that you were doin’ some rich guy in the freakin’ Magnolia and wanted to know how that happened to a dick like you.”

“Better to be one than not have one, babe,” Renji quipped.

“We seriously can’t take these two anywhere, can we?” Shuuhei asked Kisuke.

“Tragic and true,” Kisuke agreed.

Ichigo scowled, and Renji smiled a little that it was still so easy to rile him up. It was the first official smile of this week, and it felt like the corners of his mouth creaked from lack of use. Really he should be thanking Ichigo for dragging him out to dinner. Winning a rather lavish gift card to Tobi’s through some radio contest was a nice gig, and Ichigo definitely didn’t have to ask Renji’s sorry ass to join him. He’d buy the blond a shot at the bar later and say thanks.

In the meantime, Renji watched his friends eat and managed to conjure up a little relief that he’d finally told them what was going on with him. Renji was under no illusions as to why it took him so long: talking about it made it real. And the reality was simple and brutal - it was time to get over Byaku along with the anger and hurt that still made his blood boil at the very thought of the man’s name.

Two months and not a fuckin’ word from that pretty bastard…

Some part of Renji wasn’t surprised; looking back on the experience at least ten times a day for eight weeks did lend one a certain amount of hindsight. He was pretty sure he’d been right in his original assessment: call boy. For whatever reason, Byaku couldn’t find a nicer piece of ass than Renji’s that week, and so he’d been called in to do a little fantasy play and help the asshole unwind. All the tender moments and bits of what Renji thought were connection were really just evidence that Renji was a sucker for beautiful men who begged Renji to make them come.

Renji winced at the heat that memory inspired.

But your so-called logic still doesn’t explain why he wanted your full name with that medical check or why he left the bottle of aftershave lotion.

Renji firmly told himself for the millionth time that the first was his own stupidity and the second was an egomaniac’s tease. Poor boy – such a nice fuck, let’s leave him a pretty French gift that costs more than his entire store. It wasn’t cash on the nightstand, but it was fuckin’ close enough. Renji nearly snarled.

“Renji? You with us?” Shuuhei asked, face set in the beginnings of a concerned frown.

“Yeah, yeah,” Renji waved a hand and drained his beer. His ice cream was half-melted, and he couldn’t find it within himself to be upset about that.

The table was quiet, and Renji shifted uncomfortably. He reminded himself that these were his friends, and that it was good he’d finally come clean to them. They wouldn’t condemn him for this…or call him stupid. Surely they could see he was doing plenty of self-deprecation on his own.

“Jackass got to you, huh?” Ichigo asked, eyes askance to look at Renji.

“Yeah,” Renji admitted. It was pretty obvious that was the case what with the short temper and long weekends spent in bed ignoring his phone often enough that even the most unperceptive friend could tell something was wrong.

And none of Renji’s friends were the oblivious type. They just also knew when to give Renji space.

“You know nothing other than this nickname?” Kisuke asked gently.

Renji shook his head. Oh he’d done his due diligence on Google and managed to come up with exactly jack shit. It was rather hard to search for someone when you only knew a fake name, a description, and how they sounded when they got off in your mouth.

“You met at Cain’s – you could see if Reggie knows the guy,” Shuuhei said.

“Tried that,” Renji groused, staring at the bottom of his empty beer glass. He actually hated to admit that he’d gone that far, but there it was. “No dice.”

“Damn. He really got to you,” Ichigo said softly.

“Fuck off,” Renji muttered, but it didn’t have much venom.

“Hotel?” Shuuhei asked, hands folded on the table as he thought through the situation.

Renji shook his head and his mouth twisted into an ironic smirk. “They’re not real forthcoming with details of the guests who stay in their most expensive rooms. No matter how many times you tell them you were just up the ass of said guest.”

Renji sighed bitterly and recalled the desk clerk who told him over and over again with the most irritatingly polite voice he’d ever heard that the particular guest about whom Renji inquired wished to remain anonymous even to the man who shared his quarters the night prior.

Renji had a memory for all the times he got told, “No” in such a genteel manner it was impossible to just deck the bastard.

“So you fucked him?” Ichigo asked.

Renji sighed and shook his head once. But if thoughts and dreams counted as truth, then he and Byaku were long-time lovers with a beach house and perpetually exhausted bodies.

Imagination was a bitch.

“And it was an untraceable phone number,” Kisuke said to himself. Renji didn’t bother to answer.

“Well, hell…I think you’re kinda screwed,” Ichigo said with a sigh. He pushed his half-eaten pie toward Renji and the redhead forked up a mouthful and chewed the food without tasting it.

“What does he look like?” Shuuhei asked. “Maybe we know him.”

Renji smiled a little at the kind optimism and tried not to dismiss the sentiment out of hand. He stared at the table and as easily as breathing an image of Byaku appeared in Renji’s mind. “Six feet tall in shoes, long dark hair, gray eyes, ‘bout 160 pounds, lean muscle, wide shoulders, perfect abs, sweetest ass you’ve ever seen, pale skin, little pouty mouth.” Renji paused to smile a little. “Sometimes he wears these silver bead things in his hair, and he’s got these seriously hot, frameless glasses that-”

A clatter interrupted Renji and the redhead looked sharply at Kisuke. The man had dropped his fork and was staring a little wild-eyed at Renji.

“Oh – so like that guy?” Ichigo said, pointing across the restaurant.

Renji jerked his chin to follow the direction of Ichigo’s hand and gaped. Byaku stood near one of Tobi’s signature round tables while wait staff hurriedly cleaned the half-moon bench seat and smoothed invisible creases from the linen tablecloth.

“Shit,” Renji whispered, sitting up straight in his chair. “No, not like that guy – that is the guy.” He didn’t know whether he should crawl under the table and hide or go start a fight.

“No fuckin’ way,” Ichigo breathed, staring along with Renji. Shuuhei turned in his seat to look and Kisuke covered his mouth with one hand.

“Dude…the hell’s he doin’ with her?” Shuuhei asked. Renji watched as Byaku put a pale hand on the small of a woman’s back. She had long, red hair, wore a slinky black dress and four-inch heels that barely put her at Byaku’s shoulder. When the waiters cleared out, Byaku took the woman’s hand and assisted her as she slid into the semi-private booth. He followed after her a moment later, head tilted down to say something that made the woman laugh.

“Renji…I don’t think that’s his fuckin’ sister,” Ichigo said softly.

Renji was too busy being angry and nauseated to reply. For two long months he’d tried to keep parts of his body and brain shut off out of a need for self-preservation. But seeing Byaku threw wide all the doors, and in flooded the memories, the pleasure, and the hurt along with a healthy dose of anxiety and anger. Renji felt things for and about Byaku that were entirely new and terrifying to Renji, and seeing him brought them back to the forefront of his thoughts.

It was fuckin’ awful.

But Renji couldn’t tear his eyes away from Byaku, and the small voice of reason told him he should be thankful the booth was situated in such a way that Byaku couldn’t see him staring like a love-sick moron.

“Kuchiki Byakuya,” Kisuke said quietly. He sipped his wine.

Renji’s heart stopped for a second before continuing its spastic rhythm, and his blood ran cold.

Did he just say what I think he just said?

Shuuhei turned around to look at Kisuke. “Surely not.”

“You’re kidding me,” Ichigo said aghast. “That’s Rukia’s uncle?” A passing waiter gave Ichigo a strange look that all the men ignored.

Kisuke nodded. “The description isn’t terribly accurate, but I understand that the Kuchiki family is rather old-fashioned and felt the need to label the relationship.”

It felt like someone just stabbed Renji in the gut with a dull blade.

Holy fuck I kissed Rukia’s uncle. The cold, heartless, bastard Byakuya is the guy who let me blow him in a bookstore and hold him while we slept. And we…I…

Renji was rooted to his chair, and for a second he forgot how to swallow. Panic fluttered in his breast until his throat found muscle memory and choked down the saliva pooling on his tongue.

“I never really understood all that adoption crap,” Ichigo said with a frown. “And I’ve heard the story like sixty times.”

“It is complex,” Kisuke admitted. “Rukia’s aunt – her mother’s sister – had one daughter, Hisan