As they returned to Muramasa's suspiciously ill-concealed hiding hole, Byakuya turned away from the mindless chatter of the swords. He could only stand to listen to their foolishness for so long, and today had been more than enough.

Renji blinked and looked over. "What, you've really never...?"

Ichigo couldn't help bristling. "That's perfectly normal, you know!"

The fingers resting so casually on his chest froze him for half a breath, and maybe that was what made the difference.

"So impatient, Renji," Byakuya murmured.

In bed, at least, he could be pretty sure that was teasing and not reprimand.

They played this game of perfect respect and sly defiance, and he always looked forward to seeing how Aizen would end it.

It had been coming for days; she'd felt it like a presence standing behind her shoulder, stepping closer and closer again until it merged with her backbone and unstrung her. She didn't know why it was now, why this hadn't happened when she was locked away or about to die or at some other time that made sense. She just knew she couldn't hold it back any more, and a few hot tears spilled over as her breath rasped harshly in her lungs.

Rukia sighed happily as the soft brush stroked through her hair. One of the things she liked best about being assigned here, or at least about staying with Orihime, was having someone to brush her hair in the evenings. It reminded her of growing up, when the girls had saved broken combs to wash in the canal and do each other's hair with.

Shuuhei flushed as Muguruma's brows rose, and he glanced down. "I remembered you," he said, quietly. "I'm here because I wanted to live up to what I remembered."

Ikkaku liked pushing limits, and getting fucked by Zaraki-taichou did that all right.

Renji almost never gave his captain a full salute.

Other people almost never noticed.