![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
windrider1.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
kinkfestTitle: First Time
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
windrider1
Rating: NC-17
Prompt: Bleach, Ichigo/Rukia: awkward first time – "Shit, shit I'm sorry—didn't mean to—"
Word count:2486
AN: Still uncertain of my footing in this fandom, but I do love it so!! Especially IchiRuki. ♥
This wasn't at all how he'd planned it.
He'd planned on a nice dinner and a moonlit walk He'd planned on flowers and wine. He planned on doing it all flawlessly—like in those horrible romance movies Yuzu had taken to watching.
What he hadn't planned on was the restaurant being over-booked or the rain.
This was supposed to be their night to celebrate—her promotion to Lieutenant and his acceptance into the college of his choosing, whenever he decided to make the choice.
It was supposed to be something 'normal' for them. A date. An actual date. Something their turbulent relationship hadn't allowed for until recently.
He had planned it with painstaking care—and none of his plans had included them running through sheets of cold rain to his front door, still hungry, with bruised flowers dangling listlessly over his wrist.
Annoyed, he felt his right eye twitch as he latched the door behind him.
“You're soaked, Ichigo.”
There was far too much amusement in her voice, he thought, savagely rubbing his eye. “Thanks for pointing out the obvious.” He tossed the ruined flowers into the waste can beside the hall table. “I'd be less soaked if you hadn't stolen my jacket,” he pointed out.
Mouth tilted in her ever enigmatic half-smile, Rukia lifted the dark tweed towards him. “Not that it did much good.”
True, Ichigo thought, trying not to admire (too openly, anyway) the way the damp material of her dress clung to her small frame, outlining petite curves and hollows. “Sorry about dinner,” he muttered, taking the jacket to hang.
Rukia shrugged, running a hand through her wet hair. “It was a stuffy place anyway. Why would you want to eat there?”
I thought you'd like it. “It's popular. Thought we could try it.”
“Oh.” She spun on her heel, marched through the house as if she owned the place. “Where is everyone?”
“Karin is out with her boyfriend,” Ichigo wrinkled his nose at that. “And the old man took Yuzu to a concert.”
“Ah.” Rukia slanted him a look over her shoulder. “And Kon?”
“Probably in my room, on the internet.”
“Not for long,” she said, taking the stairs two at a time. “I'm stealing one of your shirts.”
It never failed to ignite something akin to admiration in him, watching the graceful way she moved. Fluid and light, like she could walk on air—even in her gigai.
“What? Rukia, stay out of my closet!”
“Ha! I lived in it for two years, Ichigo. A little late to be laying claim to it now.” She turned and poked her tongue out at him before darting through his bedroom door.
Shaking his head, caught somewhere between indignation and amusement, he followed. “You could ask, brat.”
“Mm,” she nodded absently, already sliding hangars and rifling through his wardrobe. She tugged one of his dark tee shirts free. “Why should I have to? It's your fault I'm soaking wet, so you should offer me something to wear.”
“I would have, if you would've given me half a second,” he countered. Then, looking around, “Where is Kon?”
One dainty shoulder lifted. “I tossed him out the window.”
“Ah.” He reached around her, found a pair of loose workout pants.
Her breath was a soft, startled sound, and he realized, a moment too late, just how close he'd gotten. His chest was pressed to her back, arm grazing her shoulder, chin beside her ear. He would have apologized, if he was the least bit sorry for the sudden close proximity, but dammit, he wasn't.
It had been far too long since she'd been close to him. And although they'd been a part of each others lives for a little over three years now, this part of their relationship was still new.
Fragile and new.
“Rukia.” He gave into temptation and brushed the longer strands of wet hair from her neck, kissed the lingering droplets away, followed the path up to the shell of her ear. “Missed you, Rukia.”
The tee shirt dropped from her hands and she spun in his arms, eyes wide, and the color of twilight. Their kiss was slow, deep, and full of unspoken promises—both fulfilled and yet to be kept.
She tasted like the bubblegum candy she'd made him buy earlier, soft and sweet. Her mouth moved beneath his in eager response, and Ichigo liked the way her eyes stayed open and on his.
He bent forward a bit, close enough so that she could thread her fingers through his hair and press herself against him. The cold slide of fabric caused them both to shiver and break apart.
“We really should get out of these wet clothes,” he mouthed against her forehead, his breathing ragged as he tried to realign his senses and regain focus.
Her fingers curled in the front of his shirt and her voice was quiet. “Are...are you suggesting what I think you're suggesting?”
“What? No!” he shook his head. “Of course not.”
“Oh.”
Was that... disappointment? Ichigo leaned back, confused. They'd never discussed this. There had never seemed to be the right time, but it was something he'd thought about—a lot—and fantasized about—considerably. It just hadn't occurred to him that she may have the same desire. “Rukia...do you want to...?” He swallowed, unable to finish the question because just the idea of it was enough to stutter speech and have him rock hard.
“I...” she sighed, lowered her lashes, tried to sound nonchalant. “Not if you don't want to.”
Not want to?! Ichigo swore beneath his breath, wanting to shake her. “Rukia, that's...of course I want to.” His lips curved in a wry twist. “You'd probably shunpo out of here if you knew just how much I want to.”
“Ichigo, it's okay, you don't have to—”
“Shut the hell up.” He pressed his lips, quick and hard to hers. “I want you. I do.” Another kiss, this one softer, cajoling. “So much it hurts.” He refused to give her any room for doubts, or words, and instead focused on chasing both away with his mouth.
His bed was only a few feet away—thank God—and they tumbled onto it a mass of tangled limbs and disheveled clothing.
"Ow! Damn it, Ichigo, that's my hair!"
"Shit, shit, I'm sorry," he shifted, adjusted his weight and braced himself on his forearms, fingers threading through tousled midnight to soothe her injured scalp. "Better?"
Asked in that tone, with those hooded eyes, he just about melted her. "Yeah," she whispered. "Better."
His eyes were light amber, his mouth curved up in a gentle smile. “Good.”
Her hands tangled in his thick hair, crushing it as she pulled him to her. Somehow his shirt was open to his tapered waist, the hard muscles of his abdomen revealed, though neither one of them could say exactly how it got that way.
She pushed his shirt from his shoulders and watched with enormous eyes as he shrugged out of it, his heated gaze holding hers captive. Cautious fingertips caressed the wall of his chest, exploring texture and line. Ichigo took a ragged breath, endured her searching, wandering hands until he thought he would go mad if he didn't touch her.
Trembling, he unfastened the buttons on her dress, tugged it down and tossed it impatiently to the floor. She was beautiful, he realized, almost as an afterthought.
His emotions regarding Rukia were tangled layers comprised of every emotion from love to hate, and they stemmed from somewhere far deeper than he cared to delve, so he'd never really considered her 'appearance'. It wasn't a factor. And staring at her now—fair skin, dusky shadows, and satin curves—he was surprised to find that she was beyond pretty, beyond cute, beyond beautiful. She was stunning.
His own clothes were becoming increasingly tight and uncomfortable and he wanted them gone, so that nothing would be between them, but before he made any move, he gave her a questioning look, silently asking permission. She had to be sure.
“Come here, Ichigo.”
His clothes were gone seconds later and with a groan, he covered her body with his own. He heard her gasp as the hot, hard length of him pressed eagerly against her thigh and for a moment she went utterly still.
"Is this right?" His voice was a husky timbre that vibrated across her skin and heated senses.
"How should I know?" she replied, a bit breathless and a lot needy.
"I just thought..."
"You thought what, exactly?"
That after a century or so you may know how to do this..."Nothing."
“I've never,” she muttered, eyes shifted away and a blush on her face. “I was focused on a lot of other things, and relationships complicate being a Shinigami...”
“Rukia,” Ichigo interrupted, “you don't have to explain.” And if he felt just the tiniest bit of male satisfaction at the moment, that was something he'd keep to himself.
“It feels right,” she said quietly. She arched slightly, rubbing against him. “Doesn't it?”
Hell yes! “It does,” he groaned. Hands gentle, he cupped her head in his palms, maintaining eye contact. One knee slid very slowly between her thighs, giving him access. He pressed intimately at her entrance and lowered his head, using the tip of his tongue to flick her upper lip.
"Ichigo...what are you doing?"
"What?"
"With your tongue. Stop that."
"You don't like it?"
"You look like a reptile. Why are you doing that?"
"It was on a video...you know what, never mind."
Inquisitive to a fault, Rukia inclined her head and asked, “What kind of video? Is it like the Manga you keep hidden beneath your mattress?”
“Rukia!”
“What?” Her laughter was both seduction and aggravation.
“You're a pain in the ass.”
“That's not a very nice thing to say,” she scolded. “Considering.” An arch of hip—slight but there—reminded him exactly where his focus should be, and it wasn't on internet porn or dirty Manga, but on the flesh and blood...er, synthetic and soul-filled...woman beneath him.
“You're right,” he adjusted himself, reached between their bodies and stroked his cock until slick beads of fluid appeared at the tip. He groaned, smearing the fluid and using it to help ease his way. “Ready?”
“Yeah,” she nodded, once. Her fingernails dug into his back as he began to carefully nudge his way inside.
Several teeth clenching minutes later, Ichigo felt the thin barrier of her virginity and thought to himself what a commendable job Urahara did on these things, before pleasure caused his brain to scramble and thought became a luxury he did not have.
“Oh...” Rukia's lips parted on a startled gasp, and then she smiled. “We fit.”
Ichigo was surprised by the burn in his eyes and the ache in his chest, moved beyond measure that she would give this—after she'd already given so much else—to him as well. “Thank you,” he whispered against her lips.
He gave a final push, his breath hissing between clenched teeth and he was fully inside.
She was so tight. And so hot. He groaned again, the hum of it against her pulse. He moved to feather kisses on her temples and on her nose, before his mouth settled on hers once more and his hips rolled in a gentle, shallow rhythm.
Rukia could feel the sheen of perspiration on his back; evidence of the effort he was exerting to hold back. His thrusts were short, easy penetrations and she began to relax as the burn between her thighs lessened with each sigh of his body against hers. “I can take more,” she told him, nipping lightly at his ear.
Braced on his forearms, Ichigo pushed himself deeper, his strokes longer but still slow. Her nails dug into his back once more, his name on her lips. She clutched him to her, following his tempo, moving with him as they were meant to.
His hands slid over her, gently and reverently, stroking, massaging, teasing. He murmured soft words of encouragement against her ear, and whispered wicked things. Things that made her blush, despite the fact that he was already embedded deep inside of her.
Despite his penchant for saying naughty things, he was incredibly loving, surprising her with how careful he was and with the tenderness he showed—treating her as if she were the most precious thing in all the world.
When he pulled her legs around him, and asked her to take even more, she complied, hugging him closer.
He cupped her humble breasts, lowered his head to lick each perky nipple, and Rukia lifted into his suckling mouth, a broken cry coming from the depths of her soul. Her fingers dug into his buttocks, urging him deeper still.
Ichigo moved over her, kissing every hollow and shadow. He drove away her demons, and her terrible fear of never being worthy, of never being good enough, and the bitterness.
She took away his loneliness, the memories of hideous deaths and terrible sights best left forgotten but forever burned against white bone and black stripes.
He'd jerked off to porn and his own fantasies enough to recognize the signs of encroaching orgasm, and though he tried to stave it off, it was no use.
“It's okay,” Rukia murmured against the sweat damp heat at his temple. “Let go.”
He came with her name on his lips, and it was unlike anything he'd felt before. It shot through his body from balls to brain and then left him, depleted and a shivering mass of over-sensitized nerves.
Careful, he rolled, pulling her across his chest, both of them slick with sweat, chests heaving. They lay in silence as their bodies returned to normal, his lips brushing the dark cap of her head. He held her close, listening as her heart slowed, as her breathing eased.
It was nice, he thought, holding her. It was such a rare treat, and he found himself—not for the first time—wishing their lives still didn't separate them as much as they did. But Rukia was here now, and he would savor it.
“You'll do better with practice,” she said after a time, breaking the silence.
Ichigo snorted, flushed and indignant, but too sated to do much else. “It was my first time too, y'know,” he muttered.
“Oh, well, in that case, we'll just have to practice together. Like sparring.” Something eager crept into her voice. “Just think of how fast you achieved Bankai...!! Ichigo, you'll be amazing in no time!”
He hid his smile in her hair. “Shut up, midget.”
Author:
windrider1Rating: NC-17
Prompt: Bleach, Ichigo/Rukia: awkward first time – "Shit, shit I'm sorry—didn't mean to—"
Word count:2486
AN: Still uncertain of my footing in this fandom, but I do love it so!! Especially IchiRuki. ♥
This wasn't at all how he'd planned it.
He'd planned on a nice dinner and a moonlit walk He'd planned on flowers and wine. He planned on doing it all flawlessly—like in those horrible romance movies Yuzu had taken to watching.
What he hadn't planned on was the restaurant being over-booked or the rain.
This was supposed to be their night to celebrate—her promotion to Lieutenant and his acceptance into the college of his choosing, whenever he decided to make the choice.
It was supposed to be something 'normal' for them. A date. An actual date. Something their turbulent relationship hadn't allowed for until recently.
He had planned it with painstaking care—and none of his plans had included them running through sheets of cold rain to his front door, still hungry, with bruised flowers dangling listlessly over his wrist.
Annoyed, he felt his right eye twitch as he latched the door behind him.
“You're soaked, Ichigo.”
There was far too much amusement in her voice, he thought, savagely rubbing his eye. “Thanks for pointing out the obvious.” He tossed the ruined flowers into the waste can beside the hall table. “I'd be less soaked if you hadn't stolen my jacket,” he pointed out.
Mouth tilted in her ever enigmatic half-smile, Rukia lifted the dark tweed towards him. “Not that it did much good.”
True, Ichigo thought, trying not to admire (too openly, anyway) the way the damp material of her dress clung to her small frame, outlining petite curves and hollows. “Sorry about dinner,” he muttered, taking the jacket to hang.
Rukia shrugged, running a hand through her wet hair. “It was a stuffy place anyway. Why would you want to eat there?”
I thought you'd like it. “It's popular. Thought we could try it.”
“Oh.” She spun on her heel, marched through the house as if she owned the place. “Where is everyone?”
“Karin is out with her boyfriend,” Ichigo wrinkled his nose at that. “And the old man took Yuzu to a concert.”
“Ah.” Rukia slanted him a look over her shoulder. “And Kon?”
“Probably in my room, on the internet.”
“Not for long,” she said, taking the stairs two at a time. “I'm stealing one of your shirts.”
It never failed to ignite something akin to admiration in him, watching the graceful way she moved. Fluid and light, like she could walk on air—even in her gigai.
“What? Rukia, stay out of my closet!”
“Ha! I lived in it for two years, Ichigo. A little late to be laying claim to it now.” She turned and poked her tongue out at him before darting through his bedroom door.
Shaking his head, caught somewhere between indignation and amusement, he followed. “You could ask, brat.”
“Mm,” she nodded absently, already sliding hangars and rifling through his wardrobe. She tugged one of his dark tee shirts free. “Why should I have to? It's your fault I'm soaking wet, so you should offer me something to wear.”
“I would have, if you would've given me half a second,” he countered. Then, looking around, “Where is Kon?”
One dainty shoulder lifted. “I tossed him out the window.”
“Ah.” He reached around her, found a pair of loose workout pants.
Her breath was a soft, startled sound, and he realized, a moment too late, just how close he'd gotten. His chest was pressed to her back, arm grazing her shoulder, chin beside her ear. He would have apologized, if he was the least bit sorry for the sudden close proximity, but dammit, he wasn't.
It had been far too long since she'd been close to him. And although they'd been a part of each others lives for a little over three years now, this part of their relationship was still new.
Fragile and new.
“Rukia.” He gave into temptation and brushed the longer strands of wet hair from her neck, kissed the lingering droplets away, followed the path up to the shell of her ear. “Missed you, Rukia.”
The tee shirt dropped from her hands and she spun in his arms, eyes wide, and the color of twilight. Their kiss was slow, deep, and full of unspoken promises—both fulfilled and yet to be kept.
She tasted like the bubblegum candy she'd made him buy earlier, soft and sweet. Her mouth moved beneath his in eager response, and Ichigo liked the way her eyes stayed open and on his.
He bent forward a bit, close enough so that she could thread her fingers through his hair and press herself against him. The cold slide of fabric caused them both to shiver and break apart.
“We really should get out of these wet clothes,” he mouthed against her forehead, his breathing ragged as he tried to realign his senses and regain focus.
Her fingers curled in the front of his shirt and her voice was quiet. “Are...are you suggesting what I think you're suggesting?”
“What? No!” he shook his head. “Of course not.”
“Oh.”
Was that... disappointment? Ichigo leaned back, confused. They'd never discussed this. There had never seemed to be the right time, but it was something he'd thought about—a lot—and fantasized about—considerably. It just hadn't occurred to him that she may have the same desire. “Rukia...do you want to...?” He swallowed, unable to finish the question because just the idea of it was enough to stutter speech and have him rock hard.
“I...” she sighed, lowered her lashes, tried to sound nonchalant. “Not if you don't want to.”
Not want to?! Ichigo swore beneath his breath, wanting to shake her. “Rukia, that's...of course I want to.” His lips curved in a wry twist. “You'd probably shunpo out of here if you knew just how much I want to.”
“Ichigo, it's okay, you don't have to—”
“Shut the hell up.” He pressed his lips, quick and hard to hers. “I want you. I do.” Another kiss, this one softer, cajoling. “So much it hurts.” He refused to give her any room for doubts, or words, and instead focused on chasing both away with his mouth.
His bed was only a few feet away—thank God—and they tumbled onto it a mass of tangled limbs and disheveled clothing.
"Ow! Damn it, Ichigo, that's my hair!"
"Shit, shit, I'm sorry," he shifted, adjusted his weight and braced himself on his forearms, fingers threading through tousled midnight to soothe her injured scalp. "Better?"
Asked in that tone, with those hooded eyes, he just about melted her. "Yeah," she whispered. "Better."
His eyes were light amber, his mouth curved up in a gentle smile. “Good.”
Her hands tangled in his thick hair, crushing it as she pulled him to her. Somehow his shirt was open to his tapered waist, the hard muscles of his abdomen revealed, though neither one of them could say exactly how it got that way.
She pushed his shirt from his shoulders and watched with enormous eyes as he shrugged out of it, his heated gaze holding hers captive. Cautious fingertips caressed the wall of his chest, exploring texture and line. Ichigo took a ragged breath, endured her searching, wandering hands until he thought he would go mad if he didn't touch her.
Trembling, he unfastened the buttons on her dress, tugged it down and tossed it impatiently to the floor. She was beautiful, he realized, almost as an afterthought.
His emotions regarding Rukia were tangled layers comprised of every emotion from love to hate, and they stemmed from somewhere far deeper than he cared to delve, so he'd never really considered her 'appearance'. It wasn't a factor. And staring at her now—fair skin, dusky shadows, and satin curves—he was surprised to find that she was beyond pretty, beyond cute, beyond beautiful. She was stunning.
His own clothes were becoming increasingly tight and uncomfortable and he wanted them gone, so that nothing would be between them, but before he made any move, he gave her a questioning look, silently asking permission. She had to be sure.
“Come here, Ichigo.”
His clothes were gone seconds later and with a groan, he covered her body with his own. He heard her gasp as the hot, hard length of him pressed eagerly against her thigh and for a moment she went utterly still.
"Is this right?" His voice was a husky timbre that vibrated across her skin and heated senses.
"How should I know?" she replied, a bit breathless and a lot needy.
"I just thought..."
"You thought what, exactly?"
That after a century or so you may know how to do this..."Nothing."
“I've never,” she muttered, eyes shifted away and a blush on her face. “I was focused on a lot of other things, and relationships complicate being a Shinigami...”
“Rukia,” Ichigo interrupted, “you don't have to explain.” And if he felt just the tiniest bit of male satisfaction at the moment, that was something he'd keep to himself.
“It feels right,” she said quietly. She arched slightly, rubbing against him. “Doesn't it?”
Hell yes! “It does,” he groaned. Hands gentle, he cupped her head in his palms, maintaining eye contact. One knee slid very slowly between her thighs, giving him access. He pressed intimately at her entrance and lowered his head, using the tip of his tongue to flick her upper lip.
"Ichigo...what are you doing?"
"What?"
"With your tongue. Stop that."
"You don't like it?"
"You look like a reptile. Why are you doing that?"
"It was on a video...you know what, never mind."
Inquisitive to a fault, Rukia inclined her head and asked, “What kind of video? Is it like the Manga you keep hidden beneath your mattress?”
“Rukia!”
“What?” Her laughter was both seduction and aggravation.
“You're a pain in the ass.”
“That's not a very nice thing to say,” she scolded. “Considering.” An arch of hip—slight but there—reminded him exactly where his focus should be, and it wasn't on internet porn or dirty Manga, but on the flesh and blood...er, synthetic and soul-filled...woman beneath him.
“You're right,” he adjusted himself, reached between their bodies and stroked his cock until slick beads of fluid appeared at the tip. He groaned, smearing the fluid and using it to help ease his way. “Ready?”
“Yeah,” she nodded, once. Her fingernails dug into his back as he began to carefully nudge his way inside.
Several teeth clenching minutes later, Ichigo felt the thin barrier of her virginity and thought to himself what a commendable job Urahara did on these things, before pleasure caused his brain to scramble and thought became a luxury he did not have.
“Oh...” Rukia's lips parted on a startled gasp, and then she smiled. “We fit.”
Ichigo was surprised by the burn in his eyes and the ache in his chest, moved beyond measure that she would give this—after she'd already given so much else—to him as well. “Thank you,” he whispered against her lips.
He gave a final push, his breath hissing between clenched teeth and he was fully inside.
She was so tight. And so hot. He groaned again, the hum of it against her pulse. He moved to feather kisses on her temples and on her nose, before his mouth settled on hers once more and his hips rolled in a gentle, shallow rhythm.
Rukia could feel the sheen of perspiration on his back; evidence of the effort he was exerting to hold back. His thrusts were short, easy penetrations and she began to relax as the burn between her thighs lessened with each sigh of his body against hers. “I can take more,” she told him, nipping lightly at his ear.
Braced on his forearms, Ichigo pushed himself deeper, his strokes longer but still slow. Her nails dug into his back once more, his name on her lips. She clutched him to her, following his tempo, moving with him as they were meant to.
His hands slid over her, gently and reverently, stroking, massaging, teasing. He murmured soft words of encouragement against her ear, and whispered wicked things. Things that made her blush, despite the fact that he was already embedded deep inside of her.
Despite his penchant for saying naughty things, he was incredibly loving, surprising her with how careful he was and with the tenderness he showed—treating her as if she were the most precious thing in all the world.
When he pulled her legs around him, and asked her to take even more, she complied, hugging him closer.
He cupped her humble breasts, lowered his head to lick each perky nipple, and Rukia lifted into his suckling mouth, a broken cry coming from the depths of her soul. Her fingers dug into his buttocks, urging him deeper still.
Ichigo moved over her, kissing every hollow and shadow. He drove away her demons, and her terrible fear of never being worthy, of never being good enough, and the bitterness.
She took away his loneliness, the memories of hideous deaths and terrible sights best left forgotten but forever burned against white bone and black stripes.
He'd jerked off to porn and his own fantasies enough to recognize the signs of encroaching orgasm, and though he tried to stave it off, it was no use.
“It's okay,” Rukia murmured against the sweat damp heat at his temple. “Let go.”
He came with her name on his lips, and it was unlike anything he'd felt before. It shot through his body from balls to brain and then left him, depleted and a shivering mass of over-sensitized nerves.
Careful, he rolled, pulling her across his chest, both of them slick with sweat, chests heaving. They lay in silence as their bodies returned to normal, his lips brushing the dark cap of her head. He held her close, listening as her heart slowed, as her breathing eased.
It was nice, he thought, holding her. It was such a rare treat, and he found himself—not for the first time—wishing their lives still didn't separate them as much as they did. But Rukia was here now, and he would savor it.
“You'll do better with practice,” she said after a time, breaking the silence.
Ichigo snorted, flushed and indignant, but too sated to do much else. “It was my first time too, y'know,” he muttered.
“Oh, well, in that case, we'll just have to practice together. Like sparring.” Something eager crept into her voice. “Just think of how fast you achieved Bankai...!! Ichigo, you'll be amazing in no time!”
He hid his smile in her hair. “Shut up, midget.”
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}