The Hardest Time - Crazydiamond_

Fandom: Bleach Pairing: Rangiku/Hitsugaya Author: crazydiamond_ Host: LJ Rating: NC17 Words: 2,468 Dedication: For moko_moko, who if not quite the wind beneath my wings is the gas in my tank, the beans in my burrito, and the seaweed in my sushi. She did art for this fic, because she rocks. The Hardest Time by

hardlyfatal

Rangiku sleeps. It doesn’t come easily for her, as the last week has been a blur of working, working, to try and bleach her brain of their… indiscretion. It is a dangerous knowledge, something she tries to push away from her with both hands-relief, comfort after so long pleasure, bodies twisting against each other he had wanted it, too --but inescapable. It insists upon poking itself into her consciousness at inopportune moments, memories haunting and taunting her-clever hands, agile fingers talented lips, soft tongue

teal eyes burning, burning --until heat flashes through her, leaving her chilled and bereft in its wake. His touch had trailed like fire over her skin, and her amazement at his talent-despite-inexperience had faded like morning mist. She hadn’t cared, after a while, how he’d learned to do such things, only that he was, and to her. She’d given herself to him, offered herself up like some pagan sacrifice, and he’d taken her-air thick in her lungs, each breath an agony legs tight around him, each undulation a delight head thrown back, eyes shut hard --like it was his right, his due. Then, afterward, the crawling dismay as he shrunk from her, as sanity returned to those extraordinary eyes of his and he realized how many principles he’d just breached. “Matsumoto,” he whispered, hands shaking, “why didn’t you stop me?” “How could I?” she asked, eyes wide. “You’re-my friend hurting and so am I --my captain.” He jerked, as if she’d slapped him. His eyes, oh, his eyes were so wide, and there was a fear in them Rangiku had never thought to see. Quickly, he dressed himself and left her there-still damp from his sweat and semen still throbbing from the climax he’d given her still longing for contact and comfort --to recover from their tryst, alone. Rangiku rose and washed him from her body, each sweep of the sponge erasing the evidence of that scant hour of imprudence. There, she thought, now it never happened, and ignored the little lurch her heart gave at how easily discarded such things were. And so Rangiku worked to occupy her mind, supervising the lower seats and training and the hated, omnipresent paperwork. Naps were now impossible; she could no longer look at the settee in Hitsugaya’s office without-feeling herself slide against it, a little jolt to accompany each of his thrusts hearing the creak of the aged leather as they writhed against each other seeing the imprint of their bodies, just for a moment, after they stood remembering what had happened. She shook her head to rid herself of the memories, but always they returned, flitting back, silver fish darting faster than the eye could see. It would, perhaps, not be so hard if recalling the episode didn’t still have the power to affect her; if her shame were stronger than her arousal. But— the way his eyelashes feathered upon his cheeks as he laved her nipples with his tongue the way his calloused fingertips felt, skimming up the inside of her thigh the way his breath panted, harsh and moist, in her ear as he came

Rangiku had never been overburdened with much of a sense of shame. If she felt no embarrassment for her alignment, earlier in her life, with Ichimaru Gin— tormenter saviour bastard --then this, certainly, wasn’t about to make a dent in the armour of her psyche. And, if she were honest, the shame added something to the arousal, a frisson of taboo that made her look back upon it with perhaps more nostalgia than it warranted. Because surely it couldn’t have been as searing, as effecting, an experience as she seemed to recall? It was his first time, after all; prodigy or no, there was only so much that book-learning could do for a person. She must be imagining how— her eyes rolled back in her head lights flashed in her mind pleasure burst in her abdomen --good it had been, exaggerating it with the distance of time. He must be exaggerating it, too, because he hadn’t met her eyes all week, and his entire body seemed to vibrate with tension when they were in the same room. Once, their hands accidentally touched and Hitsugaya quivered violently, just for a second. It made Rangiku think of how he’d done the same thing when she’d closed her hand around his erection and guided it into her body. Then he turned and left, long rapid strides taking him away, and Rangiku was glad for it. If it were to never happen again, she didn’t want temptation to be staring her in the face. Rangiku sleeps, uneasily but deeply. When she wakes, it’s suddenly and she is disoriented to feel another’s reiatsu in the room with her. Gin never stayed when they were done, after all, and it feels odd to rouse from unconsciousness and find someone else there. She knows who it is; she’s felt his spiritual pressure every day of her life for the past decade, and something-apprehension anxiety anticipation --leaps within her belly at the notion that he is here with her, in her bedroom, and she’s naked beneath the thin sheet. She rolls to face him, slowly, reluctant to see if he’s there to— touch me kiss me fill me --tell her it was a mistake, and he hates her, and doesn’t want her to be his lieutenant any longer, as she’s feared all week. In the dark of the room, his eyes glint in the slash of light through the window, inscrutable as always. He is fully dressed, captain’s coat and Hyourinmaru and all, and his hands are clenched into fists at his sides. “Taichou…” Rangiku whispers, but does not move to sit up, and he does not answer, not for a long time. Eventually, he says, "I told myself, only if you woke up..." but his words trail away into the night.

"What then?" she prods. It’s not enough for Rangiku; she’s no mind-reader, and needs more. “What would happen if I woke up?” "This," he says. His voice sounds heavy, resigned, like he really has no choice at all, and he peels the covers from her body. The cool wash of air over her heated skin is delicious, and she shivers even though she is not at all cold. He groans, and she follows his gaze to see how his attention is caught by her hard-puckered nipples. He wants her, has not been able to keep from coming to her in fact, but still he holds himself back for— duty and honour Hinamori fear --whatever reason. So she cups her breasts in her hands and offers them to him, once again the sacrificial lamb, and he falls upon her like the wolf. His lips and teeth worry the stiff buds of flesh until they are tender and swollen, until Rangiku is whimpering and threading her fingers in his hair and sliding her leg between his in an underhanded attempt to get him to hurry, hurry. “We shouldn’t be doing this,” he mutters as he kisses down her belly. “I know,” Rangiku says breathlessly. “This is wrong,” he tells her, and slides his tongue between her drenched folds. “I know,” she repeats, and arches up to his mouth. Sweat breaks out on her body and she plants her feet flat on the mattress, the better to— lift herself up press herself harder take more of his tongue --strive against him. And then it’s cruelly taken away, the space between her legs empty as he pulls back. “Taichou!” Rangiku cries, half-sitting up, arms reaching for him, but he only left to undress. Coat and haori on the floor already, his hands still on the ties of his hakama. “Don’t call me that,” he says, and shucks the rest of his clothes until he stands before her, nude. His body, though young, is well-developed and the muscles are defined enough to make her want to trace each one with her tongue. “What should I call you, then?” Rangiku would like to know, even as she shifts over to make room for him. Hitsugaya takes her ankles in his hands and spreads them apart so he can kneel between them. “Don’t call me anything,” is his answer, and then he lowers his face to her again. This time, his mouth is like a flame on her, lips pulling and sucking on delicate tissues as his tongue explores, slides, rubs. Rangiku’s mouth falls open in a silent, wordless scream as the world slips away. Trembling, panting, she takes only a moment to recover because he’s at her breasts once more, his body pressed all along hers as he suckles and massages. Rangiku rolls to her side and pushes him to lie on his back, her hand dancing over his chest and belly as she maneuvers herself lower

in the bed. There is the smallest patch of silvery hair at the base of his shaft, and she combs her nails through it once before nuzzling her face into the crease of hip and thigh, where he smells musky and male. He is not well-endowed, still too young to boast of anything but the length of her palm, but he is beautifully formed and, Rangiku soon learns, a delight to take in her mouth, both in his reaction-moaning undulating quivering --and the fact that he is not so large her jaw will hurt after a while. Rangiku can use her lips and tongue more, can finesse her actions more, can make him writhe more, and this fairly enchants her, as she loves knowing she is pleasuring him so much. Unlike Hitsugaya, she is not new to this, having a century of experiences to draw upon for inspiration, and when she tongues the tiny tendon underneath the head he actually flails wildly before getting himself back under control. “Don’t do that again,” he commands hoarsely. She glances up; his hair is sticking out even more spikily than usual, and his eyes are glazed. It is impossibly endearing, and she can’t resist teasing him a little. “Make me stop,” she answers playfully. His response is to growl, grab her arms, and fling her down so she is beneath him. Her mirth gone, she allows him to slip between her legs, to hook his arms under her knees so she is spread open and waiting for him. Then he drives in, fiercely and angrily and hot and thick and good and— “Kiss me,” Rangiku moans on an exhale, staring up at him. “You’ve never kissed me.” He doesn’t answer; his face wears an expression of intense concentration, and she realizes it’s taking everything he’s got to keep from coming. “Let it go,” she tells him, touching her lips to his as she scores her nails lightly down his back. With a shout, he presses deeper into her and loses himself in a powerful climax. She holds him tenderly, tenderly; she— feels his breath shudder in his chest feels the shaking of his limbs feels the softening of his member inside her --waits for the regret to begin. He lifts his head from her chest, and dismay and horror dawn on his features. “I have written to Yamamoto-taichou requesting your transfer to another division,” he tells her quietly. “No,” she says, alarm tightening her chest like a band. “I don’t want to work with someone else.” She strokes his rumpled hair, grips it a little tighter than is comfortable. “You’re my captain. Do you want me in another division?” “No,” Hitsugaya admits, “but we can’t go back to how it was before.” Rangiku sighs, then, sighs and feels smaller. “I don’t like being alone, Taichou,” she admits. “Not after what’s happened with Gin. If you send me away, it won’t be long until I find someone, to be with like this. Do you want that? Me with someone else?”

He stares blearily down at her before his head drops in defeat, and he tucks his face in the sweatdamp curve of her throat. “No,” he says, words muffled against moist skin. “You’re my lieutenant. I— it’s bad enough I had to watch Hinamori fawn over Aizen. I don’t want to have to see you with Hisagi or whoever else.” “Then don’t do this.” Rangiku’s hands gentle in his hair, stroke over his face and shoulders. “You haven’t taken advantage of me; I want it as much as you do.” Here, his blush is evident even in the chamber’s gloom. “And it’s not cheating on Momo-chan; you know that, right?” He turns his head away once more. “I don’t love you,” he says bluntly, stung by her reminder that Hinamori doesn’t love him, will never love him. “I don’t love you, either,” she responds. “That will make it easier, don’t you think? That way, we can’t hurt each other.” He’s not convinced; Rangiku decides to make his mind up for him, and flips him to his back before settling on top of him. Throughout their discussion, their close proximity had remedied his flagging erection and now he was back to full arousal; she took advantage of her position to straddle his hips and sink down, taking him in slowly, slowly. And the emptiness within subsides. No, she doesn’t love him, but she likes and respects him, and now she’s— oh, full warm and liquid satisfied, replete

--enjoying him. He doesn’t want her heart, but her heart’s with someone else anyway, so it all works out in the end. A flex of muscles lifts and lowers her over him; his fingers clench spasmodically into the soft flesh of her hips, and the pain feels dark and solid against the bright cobalt-blue sensations rippling outward from her center. She leans forward, hands on his chest to brace herself, and her breasts bob with each motion. He latches onto a nipple; still sensitive from before, the thrill of the pressure of teeth and lips streaks downward and it’s too much, too much… Hitsugaya bucks up into her, roars into her ear like a young bull, and Rangiku settles wearily onto him as he loses himself in her. “Convinced yet?” she gasps into his shoulder. “Almost,” he replies when he has his breath back, soberly, and she knows he’s not really joking. It will take time for him to accept it, to learn not to despise himself for it. Rangiku can help him with this, too; she’s had a lot of practice at discovering how not to hate herself. “It’s okay,” she mumbles sleepily into his shoulder. “I have all the time in the world to change your mind.”