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valmoraTitle: By the Season
Rating: R for rather more than implied nook-age
Fandom: Bleach
Pairing: Kyouraku Shunsui/Ukitake Jyuushirou/Kyouraku Shunsui
Disclaimer: They don't belong to me. KT would probably suffer some sort of unpleasant medical problem if he knew what I'm writing.
Notes: Because I'm tired of uke!Ukitake.
Feedback: Gives me immense joy. Especially concrit.
Summary: Four seasons in Jyuushirou's bed.
Shunsui is always gentle, as though Jyuushirou is made of crystal, as though his skin will shatter and bleed if Shunsui forgets his strength. It is a blessing on cold nights, when the heavy, warm weight of him over Jyuushirou on the bed they share keeps the chill at bay as much as the fire on the other side of the room does, and the slow movement of their bodies against one another kindles something precious and sweet between them.
It is a blessing in winter. In summer, the heat presses in on them, and the forced leisure of the sticky humidity clings to their skin, leaves them hungry with no strength to act upon it, but Shunsui is quicker to resist summer-apathy. He lies above Jyuushirou, hair pulled back and smile easy, sober as he almost never completely is - for alcohol burns off in this heat - and his touch is cool for a time, caressing the lines of Ukitake's body and movements slow, languorous, against him and inside him.
In summer, it is a relief.
Autumn is to many when nature dies, the chill leaching into bones and all of nature fading into sleep. Jyuushirou finds autumn remarkable because that is when Shunsui begins to wear darker colors over his haori, rather than the bright pink to which Jyuushirou has always become accustomed. A soft gold, perhaps, or a deep green - Jyuushirou finds it difficult to remember from one season to the next, because the color is always both striking and handsome, and Shunsui never wears it for long.
Autumn is short in Seireitei, and Shunsui is too handsome then for Jyuushirou to let the days pass without showing his appreciation.
Spring, with the cherry blossoms Shunsui finds so dear, is a season of shifting. The windows open all over Seireitei, and something inside Shunsui drives him to lie beside Jyuushirou, to pretend for mischief the sounds that he rarely makes when they strive against one another.
Jyuushirou wakes earlier than the rest of his Division so as not to bother them with whatever he and Shunsui may do. And Shunsui, never a morning person - though truth to tell, neither is Jyuushirou - is never averse, and the expression he wears when Jyuushirou first slides home, when Jyuushirou is inside him for the first time since November snows, outmatches any embarrassment Jyuushirou may feel for the suspicions he is sure his subordinates have.
Jyuushirou does not have to hold back, and Shunsui would not want him to. The flex of the muscles of his thighs under Jyuushirou's hands is a pleasure; the sharp cant of his hips in Jyuushirou's hands and the curve of his back against the bed are more than that. Jyuushirou wakes, in spring, and looks upon the mornings as a gift, as a part of the year as dear to his heart as any other.
Rating: R for rather more than implied nook-age
Fandom: Bleach
Pairing: Kyouraku Shunsui/Ukitake Jyuushirou/Kyouraku Shunsui
Disclaimer: They don't belong to me. KT would probably suffer some sort of unpleasant medical problem if he knew what I'm writing.
Notes: Because I'm tired of uke!Ukitake.
Feedback: Gives me immense joy. Especially concrit.
Summary: Four seasons in Jyuushirou's bed.
Shunsui is always gentle, as though Jyuushirou is made of crystal, as though his skin will shatter and bleed if Shunsui forgets his strength. It is a blessing on cold nights, when the heavy, warm weight of him over Jyuushirou on the bed they share keeps the chill at bay as much as the fire on the other side of the room does, and the slow movement of their bodies against one another kindles something precious and sweet between them.
It is a blessing in winter. In summer, the heat presses in on them, and the forced leisure of the sticky humidity clings to their skin, leaves them hungry with no strength to act upon it, but Shunsui is quicker to resist summer-apathy. He lies above Jyuushirou, hair pulled back and smile easy, sober as he almost never completely is - for alcohol burns off in this heat - and his touch is cool for a time, caressing the lines of Ukitake's body and movements slow, languorous, against him and inside him.
In summer, it is a relief.
Autumn is to many when nature dies, the chill leaching into bones and all of nature fading into sleep. Jyuushirou finds autumn remarkable because that is when Shunsui begins to wear darker colors over his haori, rather than the bright pink to which Jyuushirou has always become accustomed. A soft gold, perhaps, or a deep green - Jyuushirou finds it difficult to remember from one season to the next, because the color is always both striking and handsome, and Shunsui never wears it for long.
Autumn is short in Seireitei, and Shunsui is too handsome then for Jyuushirou to let the days pass without showing his appreciation.
Spring, with the cherry blossoms Shunsui finds so dear, is a season of shifting. The windows open all over Seireitei, and something inside Shunsui drives him to lie beside Jyuushirou, to pretend for mischief the sounds that he rarely makes when they strive against one another.
Jyuushirou wakes earlier than the rest of his Division so as not to bother them with whatever he and Shunsui may do. And Shunsui, never a morning person - though truth to tell, neither is Jyuushirou - is never averse, and the expression he wears when Jyuushirou first slides home, when Jyuushirou is inside him for the first time since November snows, outmatches any embarrassment Jyuushirou may feel for the suspicions he is sure his subordinates have.
Jyuushirou does not have to hold back, and Shunsui would not want him to. The flex of the muscles of his thighs under Jyuushirou's hands is a pleasure; the sharp cant of his hips in Jyuushirou's hands and the curve of his back against the bed are more than that. Jyuushirou wakes, in spring, and looks upon the mornings as a gift, as a part of the year as dear to his heart as any other.
