The first time Byakuya wakes up that night, it is because of a loud thumping noise down the hall and muffled, inventive cursing. There is the sound of a feminine giggle, which is then followed by moans and whimpers that make Byakuya wince and draw the covers up over his ears.
“C’mon darlin’, let’s take this inside,” a low, gravelly voice mutters, and the giggling and moaning and whimpering fade into silence.
Sighing, Byakuya closes his eyes, settles in against the heat at his back, and goes back to sleep.
Perhaps an hour later, he is woken again by the sound of giggling, but this time it is a man’s coy, coquettish giggle, which is then followed by moans and whimpers that make Byakuya want to get out of his cozy, warm bed and stab some people with his zanpakuto.
While he’s judging the distance between the bed and his sword, and whether he can reach it without having to remove the heavy arm around his waist, he hears a low growl from behind him, and he’s quite sure the two down the hall hear it too because all giggling and moaning and whimpering quickly vanish.
Sighing, Byakuya stops eyeing his sword, and goes back to sleep.
Not even ten minutes later, the door to their bedroom is flung open and smashes against the wall. Byakuya opens his eyes to find a little girl standing beside the bed right in front of him, small fists rubbing at her eyes and snot streaming from her nose.
“Yes?” he inquires.
“There was a monster under my bed!” she wails, and her voice is disproportionately loud for a body so small. “It was green and had slimy tent’cles and I stabbed it and stabbed it but it wouldn’t die!”
“Right,” Byakuya says.
He is just about to get out of his cozy, warm bed to slay imaginary slime monsters when a voice behind him growls, “I got this. You stay in bed.”
He feels the bed shift, and cold air hits his back for a brief moment before the covers are tucked in around him again. He listens to the sound of heavy footsteps following the high-pitched wail down the hall.
Sighing, Byakuya closes his eyes. He turns over onto one side, then turns back onto his other side. The bed is still warm, but somehow not warm enough, and his ears pick up every little sound, waiting for heavy footsteps to return.
When they do, the covers are lifted and he barely has time to feel cold before a hot, hard chest presses up against his back. He shifts into a more comfortable position -- one might call it snuggling, but that person would find themselves on the wrong end of a sharp blade -- until they are touching from shoulder to knee, and a heavy arm wraps around his waist again.
Just as he is about to drift off, Byakuya murmurs, “Next time we sleep at my place.”