(no subject)

[juicebox-woes.livejournal.com]

When; August 19th, evening
Rating; NC-17 (that means no kiddies, folks)
Characters; Kurosaki Ichigo [strawberried], Kuchiki Rukia [juicebox_woes]
Summary; After Ichigo has made it back to the City, the two finally figure some things out.
Log;

Two days. Two damn days back in the City, and that was all it took for Ichigo to go absolutely crazy. After his grand re-entrance by the fountain, he was spit up on, dragged back home, wrapped in bandages, and thrown in bed. The first night, he couldn't give a damn, since fuck, he was tired. And even after the vomit Nell called a healing power, he was sore as all hell. It felt good to fall into his old bed and crash.

That lasted about one night. The only reason he actually stayed in bed the rest of the next day was because he'd been tied to it half the time, courtesy of Rukia's obstinance.

Now, he was about ready to kick a puppy if it meant he could get up and roam around the apartment -- his apartment, by the way. If he wanted to get up and take a piss, then he damn well would, crazy midget bitch or not. In theory.

Which was why he finally got out of bed -- bandages and all, because he wasn't about to unwrap them all himself -- and padded down the hallway. He was hungry, and he certainly couldn't trust Rukia to make him something, unless he wanted to be stuck in bed for another week sick to his stomach. Frowning, he moved into the kitchen, opening up the fridge to inspect its contents, which weren't much more than an exercise in Darwinism. When was the last time anything from the fridge got cooked? Probably the day he left. Hopefully the day he left.

Raising a skeptical brow, Ichigo plucked a block of moldy cheese from the top shelf, grimacing slightly in spite of himself.

At the sound of footsteps, sharp violet eyes flickered up from the notebook, pink marker stilling in it's relatively even strokes across the paper as Rukia stopped her colouring to listen. Yes, those were definitely footsteps. And considering that there were only two people in the apartment right now -- and it certainly wasn't her making the noises, she was sprawled out on the floor -- that meant only one thing.

Damn that orange-headed, idiotic...

Stifling a low growl of irritation, the shinigami pushed herself up from her current position of sprawled on her stomach on the floor, putting the cap back on the marker she was currently using to colour the inside of Chappy's ears with. A few steps towards the kitchen, and small fingers curled themselves over the edge of the counter that divided kitchen from living room, as she peered over the edge of said counter, a glare on her face.

"Why aren't you resting?" It wasn't really a question, so much as an accusation, the slightly dangerous edge in her voice suggesting that he had better have a damned good explanation for why he wasn't doing just that.

Ichigo stiffened reflexively at the sound of Rukia's voice, though she was nowhere near kicking range. Yet. Scowling, he tossed the cheese back in the fridge, kicking the door shut and twisting around to give her a calculated, annoyed glare. This was an important argument. His future depended on this argument. Or, at the very least, his sanity.

"Because I'm eating," he answered, crossing his arms stubbornly. Forget that he wasn't eating yet, or that he wasn't sure if he could eat anything in this joint without getting food poisoning, the point was that he was done playing by her rules, dammit. He wasn't even considering the fact that he'd done the same thing to her when she got her arm chopped off by that arrancar asshole, because that was different. Way different. Somehow.

As if to prove exactly how much he wasn't listening to her anymore, he moved on from the fridge to the cabinets, opening one after the other in search of something vaguely edible.

"Then stay the hell in bed and tell me you're hungry." Yup, typical Ichigo. Being his typical irritating self. Only right now, she couldn't really punch him or kick him the way she'd oh so very much like to right now. Then she'd just have more whining to deal with when she tied him to that mattress to make damned sure he did rest. The nerve of the man, brushing her off like that. Especially after he had been possessing of the audacity to not only tie her to the bed, but drug her soup when she'd thought he was actually having a momentary bout of temporary insanity -- also called "niceness" where Kurosaki Ichigo was concerned -- and bringing her something to make her feel better.

Still, it was slightly satisfying to watch him search -- unsuccessfully, as she couldn't cook and wasn't stupid enough to have let food go bad while he was gone and therefore have to deal with a science experiment -- for something to eat. Ducking down and pulling out the tupperware of soup she'd asked Yuzu to make, she balanced it on one hand, making sure he could see the little note, written in Yuzu's childish script. "Looking for this?"

He'd want the soup, she was relatively certain of that. But no way in hell was he going to get it easily, not if she had anything to say about it. And definitely not until he got it through his thick skull that he was going to rest, if she had to make him rest.

Ichigo couldn't help but scoff, narrowing his eyes at the current empty cabinent as if it was its fault it had nothing to feed him. He'd done the whole stay-the-hell-in-bed-and-tell-Rukia-he's-hungry thing yesterday and it wasn't the most pleasant of experiences. Having Rukia play nurse wasn't as great as it might've sounded like, though he had to admit -- privately, to himself and not her -- that it was a little nice not to have to do anything. After getting stabbed multiple times and chanelling his hollow and just trying not to die for a few hours, he liked not having to worry whether his nakama were going to live or Inoue was going to be safe or whether he'd actually survive this little jaunt into the lion's den.

Slamming the latest cabinent's door shut, he turned on his heel to level another glare at Rukia, gaze landing on the container in her hand and eyes widening as if she'd just whipped out a bowl of liquid gold. It had been way too long since he'd eaten anything Yuzu had cooked, and at the moment, it only looked more enticing, after the last few days he'd had.

"Rukia," he said as firmly as he could, "give me the soup." He drifted over to the other side of the kitchen, still staring at the container like it was a lover, the counter standing as the only thing between them.

Glare deepening slightly, she took a step back, maneuvering the container well out of his reach. "Get the hell back in bed. And I'll consider sharing."

No, she wasn't jealous of the fact that he never looked at her like that, with that sort of longing in his eyes. At least, not anymore he didn't. Wait...no, not thinking about that. Right now it was "make Ichigo listen" time. Turning and walking away, soup firmly in hand, she pried the top open and stuck a finger into it, pulling it out to suck the liquid off of the digit with a contented noise.

"Mmmmm.....Yuzu makes such good soup."

She wasn't about to simply give in and let him have his way. Oh no. Not after all the crap she'd had to put up with when he was the one taking care of her. Not in the slightest. If he wanted the soup, he'd have to work for it. Casting a quick glance back over her shoulder, violet gaze unerringly finding his brown one, she raised one arched black eyebrow slightly. "And it doesn't even have sleeping drugs in it either."

Ichigo nearly winced as she took a step back, and he automatically leaned forward, colliding with the edge of the counter. Hissing under his breath -- maybe he was more sore than he thought -- he gingerly rubbed his stomach where he took a counter to the gut, soup-induced semi-trance broken.

"Rukia." He said her name as a warning, catching his slip and scowling. She was not going to get him back into bed, no matter if she was right or not. Not that she was right, because she wasn't; he was completely fine. So fine he'd snatch that bowl of soup right out of her hands. Shit, it smelt good. Like heaven, if heaven wasn't Soul Society and instead the kind you read about in books, with angels and clouds and shit everywhere.

This time, he did wince when she opened the top of the container and jabbed a finger in the soup before sticking it in her mouth, and he thought a part of him might've just died a little. Whether it was because she'd contaminated Yuzu's soup or sucked on her finger like--god, he didn't know. But it reminded him, rather uncomfortably, that he'd partly left the City to go and save her back in Hueco Mundo, and also that he hadn't. He didn't know what he'd do if she di--didn't make it, no matter what universe they were in.

Whatever she said next didn't even register, and he looked -- stared, probably -- at her a long time before finally saying something, glancing away. "Don't be a bitch."

Don't be a bitch? He sure had a lot of nerve. After all the complaining and scowling and bitching -- but not worrying, never worrying -- that he'd put her through, he had the balls to tell her not to be a bitch?! Securing the lid back on the soup container, she gave a "hmph" before turning and heading back towards his bedroom, fully of the intent that if he wanted the soup, he wasn't going to get it unless he was in bed.

"Shut up. If you want it, you lie down. You can barely stand and if you try to argue with me, I'll kick you and prove you can barely stand."

She wasn't going to starve him. Really. He was male, he'd put up with anything if he got hungry enough. Rukia may not have understood all the subtle intricacies -- because some people seemed to insist there were some -- of the male psyche, but she defiitely understood the concept of hunger. Sitting down on the edge of the bed, she made herself comfortable and pulled out a spoon. "You can hardly move, so just shut up and deal with it."

He'd pissed her off. Fuck. Now he was never going to get his damn soup, and while he hadn't exactly been starving, he still hated losing arguments. Most of all arguments to Rukia. This was the point where she would always win, because she had the soup, and he had a bitchy Rukia that he'd pushed just a little too far.

Convinced he had no better option in terms of food -- unless he wanted to go out and physically get some, which he didn't -- Ichigo rounded the counter and followed her back into his bedroom, determined to appease her enough to leave him the fuck alone while simultaneously saving himself some face. Not an easy task, and not one he looked forward to. But he was stubborn enough to not give up, for good or bad. Probably bad.



"I'm not getting back in bed, Rukia," he groused, in the most long-suffering tone he could muster. "I've been sitting in bed for two fucking days." He snorted. "Nell took care of everything, anyway."



Leaning against the doorframe -- then straightening as his shoulder protested -- he shot her an irritated glower, crossing his arms.


"Then you're not getting soup." Leveling a glare that was just as acidic, just as condescending at him, she set her jaw and shook her head, pushing back the mental snarl of outrage as what she perceived as downright ingratitude. Not to mention that it made NO SENSE for him to be allowed to act all fascist over her well-being and then she was somehow not allowed to do the same for him.


Shifting and leaning back against his pillow, she crossed her legs at the ankle, resting the bowl of soup on her lap and prying open the top again, picking up her spoon. "No bed, no soup. See, I'm in the bed, so I can have soup. And I'm so sorry that the thought of having to rely on me to take care of you is so repulsive to you, but there really isn't anyone else right now so I guess you're just out of luck."


That probably sounded a bit more venomous then she'd intended it to, but she couldn't help the fact that it stung a tad that here she was, trying to actually take care of him, despite the fact that it wasn't really in her nature to be nurturing, and what did she get? It thrown back in her face and then have that same face rubbed in the fact that an arrancar -- it didn't matter that Nell was a child, and that honestly Rukia didn't mind the kid, she was still an arrancar -- had done more good for him then she could. Nevermind that he likely hadn't meant it that way -- being a man didn't often lend with it the use of tact, after all.


"Oh, and if you don't rest like I told you to, then how about I let you see what it's like to have your food drugged, huh?"



He'd made it worse. Somehow. Damn. He scowled at her, dropping his arms back to his sides, but not moving out of the doorway. Sometimes, it was easier to keep Rukia at arm's length, especially when she was pissy. And he was pissy. They were both pissy, and that never boded well for him.



"I don't need to be taken care of," he snapped with some hint of bitterness. He'd had worse injuries before, and he'd recovered before. He didn't need some bossy midget waiting on him; she obviously didn't like it, and he didn't like it any more. He started to go stir crazy, and she started to go mad with trying to deal with him. Yeah, he did miss her a bit -- a little bit, kinda -- but that didn't make living with her breathing down his neck any easier. It also didn't help that he alternatively wanted to shake her and kiss her, which did nothing for his mood.



He grimaced as if he had a bad taste in his mouth, taking a few steps into the room. "I don't need any more rest, either!"


With a scowl, she scoffed and set the bowl aside on the small table where the lamp sat, crossing arms over her chest but making no move to vacate her spot in the center of his bed. So he didn't need rest, eh?


"Oh really? Then tell me, oh Font of Wisdom, what do you need?"


Since he obviously had all of the answers, and knew all of the solutions, he must have doubtlessly known exactly what he needed -- which would also doubtlessly be exactly the opposite of her opinion of what he needed -- and she was most certainly going to hear this.


"Since you don't need to be taken care of, and you don't need rest, then by all means enlighten me, oh learned one."

God, he was going to strangle her. She knew how much he hated when she took that tone with him, and the little jabs at his intelligence, while nothing new, definitely weren't making him feel any nicer. This was the end of his rope; Ichigo was sore, tired, frustrated, flustered, worried, and he really, really didn't need shit from her right now. He growled a little under his breath, moving closer to the bed to tower over her, fists balled at his sides.



"I need you to shut up and stop being such a bossy little bitch!" he yelled, leaning down and taking her head in his hands. His lips were on hers without a second thought, and for whatever reason, he wasn't really surprised. It'd been a while since he'd gotten to do this, and he'd been through too much -- in a way, his return into the real world was a reminder of how much he actually... well, he actually cared about her -- to let his feelings slide for much longer. Especially knowing how she felt about him.



Suddenly down on his knees in front of the bed, he tilted his head to the side, fingertips threading in her hair.


She'd been all set to scream right back at him, to loudly declare that if he wanted her to stop being such a bossy bitch, that he should stop being such an ungrateful bastard about the fact that someone actually cared enough to try and take care of his belligerent ass. In fact, she'd even gotten her mouth open to start her protest before she found it suddenly otherwise occupied by the invasion of his lips and tongue, his larger fingers twining their way through her hair as he cradled her head in his hands.


And suddenly, the fact that she was irritated, nigh infuriated with him, didn't much matter anymore. All that mattered was that he was here, he was safe, and he was kissing her. And once her mind had managed to process those few bits of information, it only took a few seconds for her arms to find his neck, fingertips gliding up his chest and over his shoulders as arms wound around his neck to pull her closer as she kissed him back.




Ichigo wasn't entirely sure why he'd decided this was such a good idea. It was apparent now, of course, that this was a pretty damn good decision, and as he thought about it a little more -- pulling his head back just far enough to catch his breath, before leaning back in again -- it really was a lot simpler than he'd figured before. Ever since he'd come to the City, even knowing how she felt, he'd always kept her at a distance, attempting normalcy and failing quite easily at it. All he wanted before he left was... something...



Okay, so, he hadn't known exactly what he wanted. But fighting Grimmjow and finding Inoue and just barely feeling Rukia's and Chad's reiatsu on the fringes of his senses helped, in a way; all he wanted now was... this. Whatever this stupid shit was. Rukia had a way of confusing the fuck out of him while making everything clearer at the same damn time, so why should now be any different? He could've died -- could die -- or she could die or they both could die or their whole world could end someday, and he never was very patient in the first place, dammit.



There was a point in there somewhere, but he couldn't give a damn anymore, tilting her back onto the bed, sheets crinkling underneath their combined weight. He pulled away to catch another breath, his eyes meeting hers as he rested his weight on his hands over her.


If she hadn't been so startled -- well, startled among other things -- at his suddenly-forward actions, she might have asked him what sort of drugs he was on. Feeling her back hit the sheets, hair splaying out around her head like a halo, she swallowed at the look on his face, the intensity in his eyes. It was like something had been stripped away, taking the uncertainty, the hesitance she'd always seen there with it. With him looming over her like that, it was a sudden new feeling to feel somehow small and powerless, she who was so often in control. As though with a simple gaze, he could turn her to putty at a whim.


And maybe that was partly true -- not that she'd ever admit it. Curling fingers at the nape of his neck, nails scratching softly against his skin, she met his brown eyes with her own, a question in their violet depths. She'd known he hadn't realized, hadn't really understood how hard it was, how frustrating to have this and yet not have it. To be offered that tantalizing taste of closeness and yet still kept at arms' length. Maybe that was why they'd both been so bad tempered lately. Or at least, why she'd been so bad-tempered. But now... that had faded with the touch of his hands, the press of his lips against hers. One hand slipped carefully around to the side of his face to cup against his cheek, fingers threading slightly into his hair as she waited silently for some sort of answer, some sign of where he wanted to take things.



Ichigo blinked, almost confused as to why she was giving him that look; she was asking him what was going on, and he almost felt embarrassed that it'd actually taken him this long to sort everything out. Almost. Instead, he cast her a lopsided smirk -- yes, he'd caught the fact that he'd made her swoon a little, like those chicks on the soap operas his dad and Yuzu loved to watch so much, not that he'd been paying attention -- before dipping his head down for another kiss. It was really the best answer he could give, and he trusted her to understand, just like he'd understood the question in her eyes.



Tilting his head into her hand, he ran his tongue along her lower lip before deepening the kiss, his hands fisting in the blankets on either side of her body. On some level, he knew where this was going, and that if he hadn't wanted it, back then would've been the time to say so.



He didn't care anymore. It was impossible to explain, but this felt right, and at the moment, that was all that mattered.


God, he certainly had a way with words. Or rather, with the lack of words. Or something. It didn't matter, not nearly as much as the feel of his hair in her fingers, the smooth linen of the bandages as her fingers slid down his back, settling over his shoulders before starting to slip under the strips of cloth almost unbidden, tugging them loose so very gently, nails gliding faintly over newly-exposed skin as she kissed him back, lips parting as he deepened the kiss in silent surrender to what he wanted, what they both wanted.


The timing perhaps wasn't the best, he was still weak, still sore and somewhat stiff, and in the back of her mind she could hear a small voice chiding her that he shouldn't do this, shouldn't exert himself or he'd risk re-injuring himself. But... that voice was faint, and far less consuming then the feel of his body pressed against hers, his mouth molding itself to hers as slender fingers deftly loosened bandages, shoving linen out of the way to get even closer to his skin.

His own injuries were the farthest thing from Ichigo's mind right now; he didn't think he could feel anything other than her lips under his and her hands carefully unwinding the bandages from around his chest, her fingertips brushing against his bare skin as she worked. He made no move to help her -- she was the one who put them there, and she'd sure as hell would be the one to take them off if she wanted to so badly -- relieved that her vendetta to force him back in bed had slipped her mind.



Though, he had to admit, in a rare moment of irony, that she had, in a way, succeeded in keeping him in bed.



He snorted unamusedly at the thought, shifting to rest his hips between her legs as she continued unraveling bandages. His hands slid under the hem of her skirt, fingertips absently skimming the backs of her thighs, testing out the softness of her skin, before moving up to encircle her waist, the silky fabric of her dress bunching and draping over his arms. Without thinking, he tilted his head down and pressed a kiss to the underside of her jaw.



Feeling the skin on her legs prickle at the faint brush of calloused fingertips, she couldn't help but shudder slightly as his hands slid up over her hips to curl fingers around her waist. The fact that he was tugging the skirt of her dress up with him didn't really bother her, though it did surprise her slightly that it wasn't bothering him. Obviously, he'd reworked a few kinks in that orange-fuzzed brain of his, and was thinking more along the lines she herself tended to think along.


With a final tug, the last bit of linen fell away, her fingers gathering up the discarded strips and tossing them aside, fingertips running over smooth skin marred by scars and rents, tracing and memorizing every line, every imperfection -- though imperfect was hardly what she would have called him at this point. Leaning up, lifting dark head off of the blankets, she pressed lips to his skin in soft butterfly caresses, fluttering over each place her fingers touched, tongue dipping out slightly to taste him as she curled her fingers to scrape her nails ever so gently against his skin as her arms slid around his torso, pulling her against his chest.


God, she'd missed this. Missed this so much, so much more than she'd ever have thought she could miss anything or anyone. But even beyond the missing, was the longing. The need that welled up inside her, driving her to pull him closer, to bury her face in his shoulder as though it was the last chance she'd ever have, nipping at his collarbone and sucking softly at the teethmarks she left.



If Rukia thought he was thinking any differently than he was before, well, that would require him to actually think. Which he wasn't right now, instead following instincts he didn't even know he had. It didn't escape him that he was the only one here who didn't really know what he was doing, and Rukia wasn't exactly terribly forgiving. He felt like he should be completely terrified, but for whatever reason... he wasn't.



There was something about the way she touched him -- took him in her arms, more like, which surprised him just a little -- that said she didn't really care. He'd made up his mind a while ago anyway, maybe even before he'd left, and he was just stubborn enough to cling to his convictions. It helped that it felt so good; she was pressing her mouth to his chest, the combination of wet and hot making him groan softly into her hair.



One hand had wandered down to the small of her back, holding her against his chest as she held him close, and he buried his face in her hair, whispering her name so faintly he didn't even hear himself say it.



Pulling back slightly, she bit back a low growl at the barest whisper of her name that escaped his lips, the faintest hint of how deep his own feelings really ran, whether he was aware of them or not. Biting down harder on his shoulder, she dragged her tongue along his collarbone and up the line of his throat, nipping softly as her mouth moved higher, tongue sliding softly over slightly parted lips that she intended to claim as her own.


As much as she needed this, wanted this, there was so much more to it then the simplicity of the act itself. She wanted to share with him, show him, in the deepest and most sincere way that she could, just how much she cared, how much he meant to her, how much a part of what made her world turn he was.


One leg shifted slightly, bare toes rubbing against the skin of his ankle as she tightened her grip, picking a spot on his throat and sucking at the skin, fingers sliding back up his back and into that bright hair she loved so much.



Ichigo felt his hands tighten around her waist, making some noise between a moan and a sigh as her mouth found a sensitive spot on his neck, and he found himself pushing her back down on the bed without a second thought, bringing his lips down on hers in an insistent kiss. His arm curled around her waist, his free hand inching up the hem of her dress -- there were buttons on the damn thing, but he sure as hell wasn’t about to undo them all -- its progress a little hindered by the fact he was practically laying on top of her.



With a muffled swear, he pulled back and tugged the dress up and over her head, mildly careful not to tear anything. No doubt she’d kick his ass, and that would ruin the mood a little.



Slowly, his eyes fixated on her like they had been on the soup not too long ago, he blindly tossed the dress off to the side before leaning down. His movements were unhurried and deliberate as he dragged his mouth across her collarbone, then down her chest and between her breasts, tasting her skin.



Given that she wanted the dress out of the way as much as he did, it was a fairly simple matter for her to raise her arms up, letting him tug the blue linen over her head and fling it aside before his head was leaning back down, lips ghosting over her skin in soft caresses. Rukia bit back a soft whimper at the look in his eyes, the raw desire that shone there unhidden by insecurity and doubt.

God, but she'd been waiting for that look, for that hunger in his gaze that she recognized so well, that piercing stare that sent all her nerves tingling without him even having to touch her, that had her shifting restlessly beneath him as lids fluttered closed over deep violet eyes and fingers curled against his scalp at the soft hot touch of his tongue sliding over her skin, faint whimpers slipping their way unbidden from her throat.

Ichigo took it as a good sign when her hands fisted in his hair, pulling him closer whether she realized it or not, and he bit back a satisfied noise as a whimper escaped her lips. As it was, he smirked a little against the skin of her stomach, before it faded into a genuine smile. He didn't smile very often, but for some reason, he suddenly felt the urge to. They were here together and everything had fallen into place; none of them were dying, there was no real danger, no worries. He didn't know if he could recognize a perfect moment if it smacked him in the face, but this felt pretty damn close.



His hands squeezed her waist, and then he lifted his head, leaving a trail of nips and kisses as he worked his way back up to her chest, finally flicking his tongue out against the underside of her breast.



She was managing to keep her control, keep her head in this situation, but all that flew out the window at the feel of his warm, wet tongue pressing against the curve of her breast, the faint touch sending shockwaves of sensation radiating out and down her spine in hot tingling waves of arousal.


With a choked moan of his name, her fingers tightened even more into his hair, fisting around orange strands as she arched her back against his mouth, shifting slightly underneath him as her eyes slipped closed and she let her head fall back against the sheets with a gasp.


Had it really been so long? Had so much time really passed between now and the last time that they'd been in this situation, the last time he'd carried her to heaven with kiss and touch that even something as faint as the brush of his mouth against her skin could cause the tremors that she was trying in vain to suppress, the quickened breathing and the whimpering that gave away just how much of an effect he had on her? Obviously it had been.


Ichigo had absolutely no clue what he should be thinking right now, and really, that was probably a good thing. He merely followed the line where her reaction was strongest, his lips closing around her nipple as her fingers curled in his hair, a gasp wrenching itself from her mouth. He could feel her trying to hold back in typical Kuchiki fashion -- they must have it bred into them or something -- and it only encouraged him, his tongue swirling around the subtle curve of her breast before he finally picked his head up, gazing up at her through ragged orange fringe.



His fingers stroked the small of her back absently, dipping slightly under the waistband of her panties. He lifted himself up onto his elbows, craning his neck to press his lips to hers, groan muffled against her mouth as their bodies made contact, her soft skin meeting his.



Her trembling had only increased at the feel of his soft wet tongue sliding around and over her nipple, the sensitive peak tightening almost painfully at his touch as she lost her control momentarily, a ragged gasping moan forcing it's way from her throat, the sound trailing off into a strained and pleading whimper of his name as that perfect, wonderful touch was taken away, leaving her shaking, skin heated and sensitive from his ministrations.


She wanted that mouth back on her, that tongue sliding over her skin again. Winding fingers into his hair with another whimper, she tugged at unruly orange strands, pushing her own tongue past his lips as his mouth found hers again, a moan breaking the contact as her slight form pressed against his, her skin seeming to burn with it's own fire wherever it touched his.


The only problem now was with the remaining clothes. Or rather, the fact that the remaining clothing was interfering with her immediate plans. His immediate plans too, she was relatively sure of. Shifting her hips up against his, she tried to wriggle her way out of the thin scrap of printed cotton that was the only thing she was still wearing, biting back a moan at the feel of his arousal pressing against her. Damned elastic. Stupid things wouldn't come off... And she couldn't seem to get her hands to where she could get his pants off either.


Ichigo nearly yelped as she wiggled her hips against his, his hand clamping down around her waist to make her stop. teasing. him. A hiss finally escaped his lips, and he shot her a look, tugging her underwear down himself, before pulling down his own pajama pants, kicking them off the rest of the way.



Carefully, he set his hips back down again between her legs, his hands idly running the length of her body, his eyes not far behind. It was hard keeping his fingers off her smooth skin, occasionally marred by scars -- not marred. They weren't particularly beautiful, the scars, but if they meant Rukia was still the same stubborn, bitchy Rukia he knew, then they weren't out of place at all. He leaned down to press a gentle kiss to one in particular that ran from her chest to her navel, the one he recognized as the scar Grimmjow had given her.



Looking up, he traced a thumb over the scar, his other arm winding around her waist, hugging her to his chest. Their bodies pressed flush together, and he brought his lips down on hers, her name escaping his lips on a murmur.



Well, at least he'd gotten everything out of the way. Finally. Or at least that was the last real conscious thought in her head before the feeling of his skin against hers drove everything else out of her mind. So close. So close and why did he have to keep gliding hands along her skin like that, it was like stoking a fire into brilliance, just feeding the flames her own nerves had set burning the instant he'd kissed her.


Biting back a moan as he pulled her closer into him, feeling him press against her warmth, legs curling around his in a near automatic fashion, she arched her back, fingers tightening their grip on his shoulders with a needful little cry that was swallowed up by his kiss like so many others already had been. Pulling back from him, head tilting back against the sheets, baring her throat to his lips, she tried to catch her breath, arms tightening around him. "N..need you......"



Ichigo didn't need to be told twice. He wove a hand in her hair and tilted her head back towards him, nose brushing against hers as he pressed another kiss to her lips. The last thing he needed was for her to start saying mushy shit like that, or else he'd get all mushy, and start saying stupid shit himself.



So he didn't say anything, resting his forehead against hers as one hand angled her hips towards him. Mind blissfully blank, he closed his eyes and pushed his hips forward, inside her, groaning and burying his face in her shoulder. She felt... it felt... he couldn't even describe it, and he found that he didn't really want to try, already overwhelmed by every single sensation flooding his body.



Letting his kiss stifle the low moan that broke from her voice as she felt him push into her, feeling herself stretch to accomodate him, she let her head loll back as his groan muffled itself against her shoulder. Rukia really hadn't known how it would feel -- well, ok so she knew how it felt, but that didn't mean it wasn't more complicated then that -- whether it would be like before, like another turn of the wheel, or whether this new, second chance at a first time would be something entirely different.


But now, with every thought blasting it's way free of her mind as the feelings rushed over her, paralyzing mind and body with their depth and intensity, there was little doubt that this was entirely different. Curse-free, nothing interfering. In a way, it was like starting over. Not just in the sense that it was his first time again. In a way... it was a first for her too.


Normalcy -- at least in regards to this sort of thing, the way it had been before -- would probably have dictated that she flip them over because there was no way she hardly ever just let him take charge of things. If he wanted control, he'd have to take it. But not right now. Right now, she wanted to make this special, to let him explore and learn and figure things out on his own. Not pin him down and seduce him, as much as the idea held merit.


Pulling back slightly, she pressed lips to the side of his head, arms tightening around his torso and hips rocking slightly against his in silent encouragement.


It took Ichigo a moment to realize he had stilled, like holding a breath, as the rush of sensation hit him, his body slowly adjusting to hers. His mind was barely keeping up; he couldn't seem to think straight, his head murky and sluggish. It took another moment for him to register her hips rolling against his, encouraging him to move, and yet another for him to finally do that. He pulled back, then pushed forward again, his thrusts a little awkward and halting before he thought to rest his weight on his elbows, his face still buried in her shoulder.



He didn't really notice that she'd relinquished control -- or maybe a part of him did, and that same part was grateful, in a way. Still, when he finally lifted his head out of the crook of her shoulder, it was to shoot her a questioning -- not uncertain, really -- look, because he felt like he had to make sure he was doing alright, at least. If he really wanted to know. Which he wasn't sure he did.



If she'd been looking at him, she might have noticed his look, and given him a nod or a smile, some sort of reassuring motion to let him know that yes, he was doing just fine, was doing everything right. But she wasn't looking at him. She wasn't really looking at anything, honestly, with her eyes closed and head thrown back, lips parted slightly, soft little moans echoing with each motion he made.


"Alright" would have been an understatement, as far as Rukia was concerned. Swallowing back a whimpered gasp of his name, she curled her legs tighter around his waist, pulling him deeper into her and rocking her hips in time with his thrusts, doing everything she could to draw this out, to intensify the waves of prickling sensation that were gliding along her nerves. Fingers spasmed, nails pressing against his shoulder with a groan as she shifted slightly, pulling him deeper and feeling him hit that one perfect spot as her lips found his collarbone again.


Ichigo had a feeling he was doing okay. She didn't say anything, but then, she didn't really need to. Her legs tightened around his waist, and whatever the hell she did with her hips, it worked. He moaned, fingertips digging into the skin of her hips -- probably hard enough to leave marks, but he was beyond caring. His body seemed to move of its own accord, and his pace quickened, Rukia's hips moving perfectly to meet each of his thrusts. He pulled her as close as she could possibly be, one hand snaking around her waist to press into the small of her back, holding her against him, while the other fisted in the sheets, an anchor.



He swore under his breath. He felt too tight, too hot, and the nagging itch in his belly only grew, his strokes becoming short and strained. Her labored breath spilled over his skin, mingling with the soft press of her lips; he bowed his head, his cheek resting against her temple, his hair sticking to both his skin and hers. Eyes screwed shut, he grit his teeth and murmured in her ear, "Rukia..."



His arm pressing into her back only served to pull her tighter against him, grinding her hips into his and eliciting a choked whimper from her lips. Closer, she wanted to be closer. It didn't seem to matter how close they were, how wrapped up in each other they could be, it somehow never seemed to be close enough to satisfy the ache, the burning need to be one with him, to have every inch of her skin flush against his, spinning out of control over that precipice that she could feel looming up ahead.


Her grip tightened on his shoulders, nails scraping against sweat-slick skin, digging in with a moan at the tickle of his hot breath on her ear. Hips rocking in time with his, she pulled back and claimed his mouth with hers, tongue pushing past his lips with a moan of his name. She could tell he was getting close, thrusts becoming more erratic, and as much as she wanted this to last, to never end, Rukia knew she wouldn't last long either. It had been too long, nerves too un-used to what had once been a familiar and welcomed rush of sensation, now so overwhelmed by the feelings and impulses.



Ichigo didn't know entirely what to do with the overload of sensation. Whatever he'd thought of this before -- and he had thought about this before, a little guiltily, mostly unwillingly -- it was nothing compared to now, when it was real, Rukia underneath him, head thrown back and fingers digging into his skin as if she'd never let go.



With a strangled groan, he angled his hips, trying to hit that spot that made her cry out, but hearing his name only ended up becoming his downfall. He had a split second as she arched into him, dark hair a halo on the pillow, to think, she's beautiful, before climax ripped through him, a thread through his body that snapped and spread, and it was like the whole world revolved around that point where they came together.



He was shouting something in her ear, hips jerking forward in a few parting thrusts as she tightened around him, pulling him in deeper, and he realized belatedly that it was her name he'd said, thick and unbroken.



He'd always said he loved hearing her moan his name in the heat of the moment, and it seemed that hadn't changed as she felt him snap, muscles tensing against her, hips shuddering as he released deep inside her, the moan of her name into her ear and the feeling of him pressed so close against her finally becoming too much as she felt herself tumble over that edge in a blinding array of pleasure, lights bursting behind her eyes and hips straining against his with a broken sobbing cry of his name as her muscles spasmed around him wildly, nails digging crescents into his shoulders.


She was probably drawing blood, but she didnt care -- honestly, she didn't think he'd care at this moment either -- it was too good, too perfect for words, drawing everything in and making the entire world seem so small and insignificant compared to what they were feeling.


His body was still shaking with the strength of his release, tensing and then relaxing as the rush of pleasure started to ebb. It left him flushed and sated -- he noticed with some satisfaction that Rukia wasn't much better off -- panting for air, his breaths spilling onto her skin, and everything crystallized into a sort of hyperawareness, like he'd never really seen the world with this kind of clarity. He could feel every single point where her body met his, every breath on his flesh, the heat of her body and the softness of her sweat-slicked skin.



Everything he thought to say sounded sappy, so he simply bowed his head, pressing his lips to her jaw, just under her ear.



Gasping, she couldn't help the shudder that rippled through her as his lips caressed her jaw, even that faint and delicate touch seeming to hover just on the brink of being too much for oversensitized nerves to handle. Trembling with the aftershocks that still vibrated through her body, she tightened her grip on him again, nuzzling her face into his shoulder with a sigh and a whisper between pants.


"I love you...."


She didn't say it much, and honestly she didn't expect him to say it back either, mostly because she knew that while he knew it, accepted it, was aware of it -- which was a different thing entirely -- he wasn't always necessarily comfortable with it. In fact, she could have easily said that rather then him saying it -- even though she missed hearing it -- that for him simply to not tense up, not stiffen and go quiet as though the words themselves were dangerous would have been enough for her. Regardless of the fact that she might have liked to hear it, Rukia didn't have any illusions about the words themselves. They'd always been hard for him to say, even before he'd left the City the first time, there was no reason to think that they would necessarily be any easier this time around. And really... she knew how he felt, he'd shown her with ways that stretched much farther then mere words ever would.


Ichigo didn’t know what made him say it. A large part of him still denied the fact that it was true, and maybe it was because she’d said it first, or maybe it was because he was suddenly sleepy, the previous burst of clarity fading quickly. He blinked heavily, his face still buried in the crook of her neck, his mouth at her ear when he whispered, “I love you, Rukia.”



It was automatic, and he didn’t even realize he’d said anything until he pushed himself away, his arms seeming to give way as he rolled onto his side next to her, the mattress groaning under his weight.



As he hit the bed, the enormity abruptly hit him too, and he immediately stiffened, as if by going completely still she wouldn’t notice that he’d just admitted he loved her. Willingly. He had no doubt she’d take it well -- okay, maybe a few doubts, just because -- but the second to last thing he needed was for her to make a big deal about it. The last thing he needed was to need someone, because the last time he’d needed anyone…



Wincing slightly, he looked away, still vainly hoping that she’d never heard him say anything at all.



Violet eyes widened in shocked surprise at the faint whisper, hardly daring to believe that she'd actually heard him right. She was about to turn to him, to ask him if he meant it -- though she knew he did, difficulty communicating Ichigo might have had, but he didnt say shit he didn't mean -- when she caught the barely noticable stiffening of his frame, the sudden insecurity and discomfort that seemed to shade his eyes. Anyone else, in the same situation, might have been hurt to have something so special said and then treated somewhat as though it was a mistake, something bordering almost on regret.


But Kuchiki Rukia wasn't anyone else.


He'd say it again. Maybe not today, or tomorrow, or even this month. And she could accept that. She didn't need the words, not really. They were nice, wanted, cherished. Yet still not necessary. But even still, the fact that he even said them meant more then she'd probably ever be able to tell him.


With a sigh and a contented little murmer, she simply rolled over and snuggled up against him, head pillowed against his shoulder, nuzzling against him to drop a soft kiss against his skin and wrapping an arm around his waist. There wasn't really anything that needed to be said, any acknowledgment that needed to be made. She knew he'd understand, and it sure helped that she was relatively sure any sort of big deal she'd made out of it would not only make him monumentally uncomfortable but serve to completely ruin this one fairly perfect moment that she wanted to keep on living.


If Ichigo didn't know before how painful a pregnant pause could be, he certainly knew now. It wasn't often he bared his soul, and this was the reason why; he could practically feel her shock humming in the air, and he didn't dare to turn his face back towards her and catch her expression. It wasn't until she dropped down and wrapped an arm around him, apparently content, that he realized he was holding his breath. He released it on a soft sigh, gaze inching down to where she was cuddled up against him, using him, for all intents and purposes, as her own personal pillow.



He found himself relaxing at the sight of such a typical Rukia move, and the fact that she didn't make a big deal out of anything. It was easy to almost forget anything had happened at all. Fine by him.



With another quiet sigh, he tucked her head under his chin, one arm claiming her waist as he smothered a yawn in her hair, his sleepiness finally catching up to him. Then, almost as an afterthought, he reached down to tug at the sheets they'd scrambled up, pulling it over their cooling bodies and not even caring if he'd yanked up the bottom or the top.



There. Now he could rest, his fingertips tracing meaningless patterns on her skin. And even though it made absolutely no sense, he was starting to feel weirdly peaceful, like he had no regrets at all.