Sweet like candy to my soul,
Sweet you rock and sweet you roll.
Lost for you, I'm so lost for you.

—Crash Into Me, Dave Matthews Band

Toushirou sat with his back against the headboard as he stroked the hair of the woman sleeping in his arms. The woman who was the most important person in his life—because she was her and she was his. She had come to him, humbly, proudly, stripped of obligation, prevarication, excuse. She hadn't come out of duty or drunken stupor or guilt, but because she desired him, wanted him, needed him. It wasn't as if she couldn't have gone someplace else to fulfill her physical needs. Matsumoto Rangiku was a beautiful woman—the most beautiful woman in Seireitei, in his opinion (biased though it may be). She could have had any of the unattached (and many of the attached) men in Soul Society.

But she had chosen Toushirou. Because she loved him. She hadn't quite come out and said it, but from her words, her tone, her willingness to come to him despite her obvious fear of being intimate with anyone, he knew. She would tell him when she was ready. Until then, he'd surround her with his own love and support. Because, God did he love her.

Sometimes he thought he'd always loved her. Part of it was gratitude and awe, that she'd cared enough to interfere in his life all those years ago, to save his grandmother's life and change the course of his, when he'd been nothing but an ass to her. She'd said she owed him? It was nothing compared to his debt to her. Another part was affection for the woman who'd been so much a part of his life for the last 15 years; day-in, day-out, her smiles, her laughter, her bubbly enthusiasm brightened his day, made him whole, kept him alive and fully present and from becoming buried under the crushing weight of his haori. She was the only one who dared to touch him, and she did it casually, without thought. Still another part was respect, the admiration of a soldier for his comrade in arms. She watched his back, fought beside him, threw herself in front of a blade that was headed for his back more times than he would have liked, and she always got the job done. He trusted her, relied on her, but never took her for granted. And then there was the passion, desire, pure unadulterated lust at her blatant sensuality. This was the part he had denied—tried to suppress—the longest, and never let her see.

Because she didn't come to him undamaged. Rangiku had been abused, betrayed by the very people she was supposed to be able to trust most, people who had, at the time, held the same position Toushirou was in now. He'd been terrified of being like them, compared to them in her mind, avoided and feared like them. He well-remembered those first few years as taichou when she'd practically bowed and scraped before him, cowering at his slightest movement and offering him the use of her body every night. She'd been a weak thing then, not at all like she was when he'd first met her back in Rukongai. She'd healed since, he liked to think he'd helped, but her hesitation the night before evidenced her fear of intimate sexual contact, even with him. Her scars were internal but obvious, and that was what had kept him from going any further.

She needed time to relax, to get comfortable with him in this new role. He needed time too, to prepare, to learn how to react if she began to panic and, most of all, how to bring her pleasure. Because if he wasn't mistaken, this would be her first time ever having sex voluntarily, and he, as a virgin himself, was woefully ill-prepared to deal with the situation on the spur of the moment.

The sky was lightening and the birds were beginning to chirp, so Toushirou pulled himself out of his reverie and forced his muscles into action. Careful not to disturb her, he quickly showered and dressed, then made a quick breakfast. He left her portion on the bedside table along with a quickly-penned note:

Good Morning,

I didn't want to wake you. Here's breakfast, and there are fresh towels in the bathroom. Sleep in as long as you like. I'll see you later at the office.

—Toushirou

Rangiku woke alone and somewhat disoriented. This wasn't her bedroom, this wasn't her bed, and she was pretty sure she'd never been in this room before. What the hell?

But she spotted a photo of her taichou and his granny on the dresser and relaxed. The night came flooding back to her with all of its embarrassing revelations and emotional transparency, and she blushed, stretching lazily. Never before had she woken up in a man's bed fully-clothed and with pleasant memories. But where was he?

She smiled at the breakfast tray, but frowned at the note. Courteous, conscientious, but not the least bit intimate. None of the pretty words or love confessions of the prior night, or any of the other things a girl might expect under the circumstances. Just the facts. Was he pulling back, regretting his hastiness, ashamed at her weakness and impurity? Or was he simply being her taichou, courteous to a fault but almost incompetent at expressing emotions other than frustration?

He certainly seemed to want her, but that was no surprise. Rangiku was well aware of her sex appeal and she'd been using it to her advantage for years. Every man wanted her, but she certainly wasn't naïve enough to mistake sexual desire for love. No, she was surprised by two things. First, her taichou had obviously wanted her, but he hadn't acted on it. Second, despite the all-consuming panic she felt at the thought of actually letting a man touch her . . . she wanted him, too. He was attractive and sweet and loving and kind, and the idea of him putting his hands on her was as arousing as it was terrifying.

Putting the thought aside for the moment, she took his note at face value and indulged in nice long bath and leisurely breakfast. It was nearly noon by the time she made it to the office.

"Matsumoto! You're late!" he snapped as she walked through the door.

She froze. Rangiku, you're such an idiot. Obviously he still meant that you should get to the office on time!

"I-I'm sorry, I—"

He chuckled. Actually chuckled. "Relax, I'm teasing you. You should see your face! Did you sleep well?"

Off-balance, she just nodded and stared at him, wondering who this relaxed, playful man was and what he had done with her taichou. It took a moment for the adrenaline rush to fade, and her reaction scared her more than his teasing had. Since when did she panic, apologize, just because he was upset with her?

"Rangiku, are you all right?" he asked, walking toward her.

"Y-yes, I'm fine," she lied, pulling herself together. Why did she feel so insecure, so awkward about the whole thing?

Her taichou stroked her cheek and guided her mouth down to his for a quick peck on the lips. "Relax," he repeated. "It's just me."

She didn't know how to tell him that that was the problem. No one could hurt her like him because no one else meant as much to her as he did.

As strange as the day started, they soon settled into their normal routine. She did a couple hours of paperwork, then napped on the couch while he finished up. When she woke up, it was starting to get dark already. She sat up, brushing her hair out of her face and trying to clear the fog in her brain. Her taichou never let her sleep that long. She looked for him and found him in his chair, of course, except he was leaning back and staring at her.

"Taichou, why did you let me sleep so long?"

He winked at her. "Maybe because I'm not going to let you sleep tonight."

All the blood in her body rushed to her head. God, he was hell on her nerves. Thrilling and terrifying and thoroughly intoxicating. Better than sake. He waved her over, pulled her onto his lap, and just held her in the fading light. His reiatsu cooled her heated skin. His heart beat in rhythm with hers. A sob shook her before she even knew she was crying.

"Shhh," he soothed, stroking her hair.

"I don't even know why I'm crying," she whispered, burying her face in the crook of his neck.

"Don't lie," he whispered back. "It's overwhelming, isn't it? All this contact."

And it was.

A week passed, and they fell back into their normal routine, except that they spent every night together, limbs intertwined. It wasn't that they were avoiding having sex, or at least not overtly. It just seemed that everyday something came up, kept them out until 1 or 2 am putting out fires until it was all they could do to take off their shoes before they fell into bed and into each other's arms.

She was getting comfortable with him, at least she could say that about their time together—wasted time, but not wholly wasted. He was getting impatient, she could tell, and she felt guilty because she'd just as soon keep things exactly the way they were. All of the tenderness and none of the mess. But still…he'd taken to sleeping with his shirt off, all lean, steely muscle, and part of her looked forward to the more that was surely coming nearly as much as he did.

That wasn't the only thing about their relationship that confused her. She was getting used to being in his arms, getting used to his informality at work, his casual affection, but when they weren't at his place or in the office, when it wasn't just the two of them, she was lost.

She didn't want to give away their secret, to embarrass him, so she'd taken to making a quick exit when someone else came around, and if she couldn't do that, retreating to the strictest of formalities, doing everything but bowing to throw people off the scent. She knew it was conspicuous, knew it didn't align with her usual practice or her taichou's personality, but it was her first instinct and she didn't know what else to do.

His eyes flickered every time, darkening just a smidge. But he never said anything about it, and neither did she. There was nothing to say.

One Tuesday, two weeks after that first night, Toushirou had had enough. He was ready, she was ready, and she seemed to be getting less ready as time went by, retreating in a way he couldn't allow. The wait was making the dread return, and it was unacceptable.

So he cleared their schedule, arranged for his third seat to be on call and only interrupt him if the division was burning down around them, and asked Ukitake to take over his evening patrol. This was the night, and nothing was going to stand in their way.

He left work early, asked her to finish up and meet him at his place around six for dinner. She knew something was up, must have, because she didn't protest about the half inch of paperwork he'd left her, and he could see the conflict in her eyes. Conflict that, after tonight, he hoped never to see again.

She knew this was the night. It wasn't so much that he was acting different as it was the look in his eyes. She showed up on time, expecting to go out, but he'd made her dinner—her favorite. He wasn't a romantic; there were no candles, no flowers, no gently wooing words. Just a thoughtful practicality and eyes that never missed a beat.

She helped him clean up, he kissed her hand and led her into his room. She'd slept there every night for over a week, but this was different. Nerves got the best of her and she buried her face in her favorite place, the crook of his neck, his pulse driving against her cheek, grounding her.

"Taichou," she whispered, breathing in his unique scent of evergreen and good, clean musk.

"Hey," he whispered back, pulling away to look into her eyes. "Okay? We don't have to do anything. I'm happy just holding you again."

But that wasn't fair to him. Or to her. She wanted this, she did, she wanted to stop dreading and worrying what it was going to be like and just know. "I'm okay," she lied, sliding his haori off his shoulders. "It's time."

His look let her know he didn't believe her for a minute, but he kissed her anyway, and she was swept away.

He nibbled at her lips, sipped from them, nuzzled into the base of her neck, hair like silk tickling her collar bone. He made her shiver, made her ache. Made her laugh. He pressed her back into the bed, rose up above her, bright pools of blue-green leaving her boneless. He undid her uniform, calloused hands painfully gentle as they smoothed the material away from her skin. She was on fire, but the cool brush of his hair made it bearable as his lips trailed his hands, kissing his way down the newly bared skin. She waited for him to zero in on her breasts, but his lips ran right between them as he caught her by the small of her back and drove his tongue into her belly button.

He was ecstasy.

She was torment. So much beauty, all soft skin, soft moans, soft heart. Fragile. It wasn't good enough. He needed her desperate. Tortured. Demanding.

He trailed the tips of his fingers up the inside of her thighs, and she shuddered. His thumbs brushed her dripping slit lightly, so lightly, and she sobbed.

Grinning, he kissed the back of her knee as he looped her legs over his shoulders and dove in. Tongue first.

She was screaming. Begging. Desperate. The pleasure was painful as he sucked on her clit, flicked it with the tip of his tongue, over and over until she couldn't remember a time before this trembling, before this inferno. It was too much.

But not enough. She couldn't see his eyes. Couldn't hear his voice. He could be anyone, anyone with a white wig and a talented tongue. "T-taichou?"

He responded instantly to the uncertainty in her voice. The intensity dropped, letting her muscles unclench. Turquoise met ice blue and she felt safe again.

"Right here," he growled, capturing her lips. She tasted herself on his tongue . . . strange, but not unpleasant.

"What do you need?" he asked in that same rough-tender tone.

Just you. She wrapped long fingers around his wrists and pulled his hands to her defining feature. "Please."

He kept his gaze trained on hers, grounding her, as he cupped and weighed her heavy breasts. His leaking reiatsu hardened her nipples and made her quiver. She was so sensitive there. His swirling tongue made her scream.

He drew one nipple into his mouth, then the other. Then his thumb stroked her clit and slender fingers slid inside, deep, deep inside, setting every nerve ablaze.

Oh, God. She writhed, not sure which sensation she wanted to push into first. His fingers brushed against her walls, tickling in a way that was more than intriguing. "There," she moaned, clutching his arm to keep it in place.

Chuckling, he repeated the motion, stroking her g-spot over and over. The tickle turned the corner into pleasure, then rode that knife's edge of too much, almost-pain. Then the pressure was unbearable. "I-I can't—"

He sucked both nipples into white hot heat, slammed his knuckle into that spot deep inside, and she came. Instantly, furiously, continuously. He shifted, replacing his fingers with the long slide of his hardened cock, and it was just another level of high. She rode it out, rode him, as he slammed into her. The sweetness was gone. There was nothing gentle about the way he fucked her.

Except his eyes. Those wild blue-green orbs never left hers.

And his words, as he panted his love for her with every thrust in that sexy, husky voice.

He wasn't fucking her. He was making love to her. To her, not to her body. She was more to him than bedroom eyes and a killer rack. She cupped his jaw. "I love you, Toushirou."

He came mid-stroke. "Rangiku!"

When she felt the rush of hot liquid filling her up, she joined him in bliss.

"Taichou!"

He held her after, as the sweat cooled on their bodies and they had to snuggle under the blankets to keep warm. He was asleep immediately, but she lay awake, worrying. It had been incredible, better than her wildest fantasy, but she wasn't sure how she was supposed to act when she saw him again at work the next day. Should she greet him like normal, as if nothing had happened? Should she be especially formal, so that no one would suspect anything? Just because they had amazing sex didn't mean they were in a relationship, or at least one he wanted other people to know about.

As it turned out, she didn't "see him again at work"—he never left! He was there when she woke up in the morning, there when she got out of her bath, beside her when she walked out the door. All of the togetherness just made Rangiku more confused. How was she supposed to separate their relationships if he never left her alone? At what point would he cease being her gentle lover and turn back into her grumpy taichou? She knew she should just ask him, but it was too strange, too embarrassing. Finally, as they reached the entrance to the office, she decided that, wherever the line was, they had crossed it by then.

"H-Hitsugaya-taichou—" she began.

He pivoted, cupping her cheek in his palm and drawing her head down to his. "So formal," he teased, smirking. "I thought we took care of that last night."

She blushed, hopes rising. "I didn't think you'd want anyone to guess."

"I don't."

"Oh," she whispered, looking away.

He tapped her cheek and once again his blue-green eyes enthralled her. "I want them to know," he said. Then he captured her lips in a soul stealing kiss. In front of most of their squad.

"Hitsugaya-taichou!" The voice was so scary it made Rangiku shiver.

Her taichou pulled away and they looked into the furious gaze of Ise Nanao.

"How could you?" she hissed, snatching Rangiku from his grasp.

Her taichou pulled her back, and suddenly Rangiku knew what the rope felt like in a game of tug-of-war.

"Ise-fukutaichou! What is the meaning of this?" he thundered.

Nanao had tears in her eyes. "I thought you were different! How could you, and in front of your whole squad, too? Don't you care anything for her reputation? Don't you remember what she went through before? I thought better of you, Hitsugaya-taichou! I never thought you'd abuse her, too!"

Toushirou just looked on with bewildered eyes.

Suddenly a hand was wrapped around Nanao's mouth and she was pulled back into a pink-haori-covered chest.

"Pardon us, Hitsugaya-taichou, Rangiku-san. You'll have to excuse my little Nanao-chan; she can be a little overprotective of her friends, as well as a lot suspicious of the motives of honorable men."

"I wonder why," Toushirou mocked with a pointed look at the taichou of the Eighth.

Rangiku ignored them both, choosing to hug her friend instead. "It's okay, Nanao, it's not like that! He's not taking advantage of me!"

Nanao looked skeptical. "So, you're in a relationship, then?"

Rangiku floundered. "I . . . . Well, I—"

Toushirou wrapped his arm back around her waist, kissing her neck (which was the highest point he could reach without standing on tiptoe or pulling her head down). "Of course."

"Really?" both females demanded.

The men shared a look. "And they think we're the dumb ones," Toushirou muttered as he rolled his eyes and pulled Rangiku toward the office. Both oblivious to the cheers of the squad members they left behind.

Later as they lay wrapped in each others' arms, remembering how to breathe, she asked him how he could be so good at that when he'd never done it before.

He was never telling.

He just hoped she didn't notice the box of romance novels he'd hidden in the closet.

Though he'd labeled it "Paperwork," so he was probably safe.

-The End-

A/N:

Good Lord. I think I just made myself cry. Please review—this may be the best thing I've ever written.

~bandgirlz~