His hair

You decide to take your time. You dislike rushing. The only place where speed is essential is the battlefield and while many could argue this is a similar situation, you refuse to accept it as such.

Instead of taking his mask off first to delve deep into those eyes that probably have as much trouble hiding emotion as his voice, your fingers slide past, stopping to give careful attention to those pale ears before undoing all that is the spirit's hair, tied behind his head with confidence and precision.

These fall behind him, unceremoniously, but Senbonzakura seems to be so fixated on your face that he doesn't care much.

"Byakuya-sama--"

Your hands grasp at the long, silky locks, like those velvety soft cherry blossoms that still jump about in gentle lifts. You drag your fingers through it, not a single tangle in it, pure perfection. You wonder, faintly, if it smells like the cherry blossoms that surround you, or if he has the scent one would expect from a samurai of old--the heady scent of musk, blood, dust and ****.

Instead of dwelling on it, knowing you've trapped him, after one final, gentle tug, your fingers trail down to unclip his shoulder pads. He sidles closer, to make it easier for you and its as if a sudden chill has swept around you. His body radiates such impossible heat that, for a moment, you wonder if you haven't stepped into a world that isn't your own.

You fumble for a minute on the clasps before you finally refocus and manage to undo them, feeling their weight as they slip from his shoulders. Without them, he seems a bit smaller, less intimidating, but you pay little mind as he shrugs, encourages them to fall, taking only a brief glance down toward his fallen armor.

Before you let him get away, you move to reveal the first piece of flesh that you will have ever seen on his body. The gloves come off slowly and it seems to catch his attention more than anything else. "Byakuya-sama. Should I not be...?"

There's no need to answer him--you are doing as you please and while he's not one to refuse you, you give him plenty of chances to avoid you. "It's strange, baring oneself to another, isn't it, Senbonzakura?" You ask instead, finally striping one of his hands from his gloves. His hands are much like yours--thin, delicate in appearance, but calloused and holding more strength than what they seem capable of.

"I don't know what you mean. I have yet to bare myself to anyone."

"It is called armor for a reason," you reply, lifting that hand to your lips, pressing soft kisses to each knuckle. "Discarding even one piece can make a warrior feel bare." As you remove his armor, you're removing your own, every piece carefully discarded, at your own pace, to ensure that, not only is he ready and willing, but you are too. It is one thing to plan every step meticulously. It's another to actually break down, strip yourself of every defense you have when you're sharing a moment with someone who needs to see you at your strongest.

He regards you with an air of inquisition and perhaps such things are truly unnecessary when dealing with someone like him. Explaining it is pointless, but showing him is another story entirely.

Testing the waters, your tongue darts out, dips between the pale digits, pressing at the sensitive spot of flesh between each finger. His breath hitches and he tenses again, but still does not pull away.

It's a victory and you don't need anymore invitation than that. Your tongue dances between each individual finger before you stop, kiss the tip of his index finger and slowly take it in your mouth. You hear his breath exhale through the hole in his mask and you are eager to feel and taste more... to see your proud spirit bare before you as you are in front of him.

"B-Byakuya-sama..."

As you work, you raise one hand and move to remove something else from your spirit's body...