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While Captain Ukitake cannot be said to share his own zanpakuto’s predilection for mischief making or talent for drawing, they do seem to have one thing in common.
They both love to play games.
His vice-captain’s zanpakuto likes to play games too. But Ukitake doesn’t play with the twins the way he plays with Sode no Shirayuki. There are some games you just can’t play with children.
She’s beautiful. A vision in white against soft silk sheets. She looks like a princess. A white queen. Someone you’d bend a knee for in a heartbeat if she so commanded it.
In this instance, however, it is she who bends for him, bowing like a flower in the breeze. She becomes a tree stretching up towards the sky for him, arching, straining, panting for the taste of sunlight on her tongue. She’s gorgeous like this, so gorgeous- and she breaks all the more beautifully because of it.
“Ukitake-dono! Please.”
She begs so beautifully. He decides not to gag her lest he deprive himself of the sound.
He keeps her pinned, caged, never depriving her of the heat of his body. The room around them is sweltering, her cool rietsu unable to stave off the overwhelming force of his own. It surrounds her, consumes her, keep her feeling nothing but him, him, him.
He has her in his bed for an hour and by the end she’s putty in his soft hands: malleable, pliant, and viscous with sweat and tears.
She doesn’t remember crying, barely remembers anything through the haze of good and oh god and please Ukitake-dono!
It doesn’t matter though because he remembers.
He remembers the way she stretched, arched and cried out for him more times than she had breath to speak. Remembers the way her soft voice went hoarse and desperate, the way she came undone for him like the knot of a silk obi.
Ukitake holds her shaking and shivering form to his chest in the lost twilight and remembers.