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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 sweat-
damp 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.”

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