Summary: "He especially hated how much he enjoyed her."
A/N: For the Byakuya/Yoruichi SpringKink prompt: Against the wall - He hated her since he could remember.
He hated everything about her.
He hated her since he could remember.
Especially now, with her nails raking down his back, teeth leaving wet, red marks on his shoulders. Byakuya hated every groan she made for him, every hitched breath and every drop of sweat she left on his skin. He hated how her dark hair clung to equally dark cheeks, flushed with sex and heat, kiss-full lips mashing into his own with need.
He hated himself the most, for losing to her – again – for breaking a silent vow to never allow another woman into his bed since his beloved Hisana died. He especially hated how much he enjoyed her, dark, guttural moans of pleasure erupting within his chest whenever she moved against him, to arch her back or scratch down his arms.
Yoruichi tasted like salt and cinnamon. Byakuya couldn’t satisfy his need for her taste, licking up the tight expanse of her stomach or taking the sensitive flesh of her throat between his teeth. His treacherous hands wouldn’t stop moving, palms sliding flat along the curve of her hip, clutching the soft flesh of one thigh or to mold a pert, soft breast in his palm.
Her hands, too, were all over his body at once, lighting up tingling fire on the surface of his skin and deep within his belly. A moan was lost within her mouth, muffled by the tongue fighting against his own when Yoruichi’s hands – or claws? – curled around his arousal and explored without mercy. Her strokes were swift and thorough, never leaving him time to breathe or move or think.
Byakuya saw stars light up in her gold eyes when he slid two strong fingers into her, their sighs mingling in the dark. Yoruichi hissed, just like a cat, when one thumb scraped against the tight bud of her clit, gasped his name when he did it again. And again. And again, until she was mumbling incoherencies into his ear and writhing uncontrollably, until she came curled into his chest and out of breath.
How or when or why she’d moved him from the wall he’d pinned her against to his open futon Byakuya didn’t question. With the speed only she could manage (even now he could never win) she was in his lap and grinning, cat-like, down at his face. There were words but Byakuya’s head was too full, lips too busy biting harshly at her shoulders and delectable breasts to care.
The moon outside poured into the open shoji door, late July blooming heavily in the air and making their skin slick as she moved against him. Where Hisana was timid and soft, Yoruichi was bold and brazen, grinding their sex together while one hand curled root-deep into his hair. And as much as he tried to say otherwise, Byakuya couldn’t hate her for it, for her nature or the way she fucked him however she pleased.
Byakuya’s thumbs dug into the hollows of Yoruichi’s hips as she finally, finally guided the head of his cock to her slick entrance and took him with one fast, harsh swallow. Her flushed face disappeared for seconds (or hours, Byakuya could no longer tell) when colorful dots opened up before his eyes, reappearing when she sunk her teeth into his lower lip.
Pain and pleasure and emotion twisted into throbbing knots as the woman in his lap moved, the slow, deep grind of her hips making him curse. Those knots seemed to grow each time she moved, slamming back into his lap and purring his name. A shudder rolled into his spine as he said her name, Yo-ru-ichi, each syllable drawn out loud and clear as if she could no longer hear, as if saying her name would take those one-hundred years back. But it never could.
Byakuya held her tight in his arms when she came again, heels digging into the small of his back, arms around his neck and hands in his hair. The floor tilted and the moon spun when he felt his own release, exploding white-hot embers which left him breathless, as it always did.
He didn’t question her when she lay down beside him, violet hair wrought in silver, spread out against the pillow and dark skin alight in the afterglow. Her hair was ticklish when he let it fall through his fingers, tasting its texture and mapping it to memory. It smelled just as it looked, of irises in full-bloom, drowned out by fresh rain.
She was different now as he took her deep into an embrace, body soft and pliant in his hands, gentle as only a woman’s could be. He didn’t question why she didn’t don her clothing and leave as always, partly because he didn’t care and partly because – Byakuya wanted her to stay.
But it wasn’t in her nature.