Slow (Bleach; Ichigo x Rukia [PG])
Jul. 15th, 2010 10:57 am![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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kinkfestTitle: Slow
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
windrider1
Fandom: Bleach
Rating: PG
Pairings: Rukia x Ichigo
Warnings: None
Word count: Little over 1000
Summary: Decisions need to be made.
AN: Late, sorry!! Surprisingly not smut...
She had expected him to be hurried and rough, maybe a little clumsy even, because it was how she felt. She wanted--needed--to feel him against her; she needed to hear his harsh breaths and feel his heart hammer, so she could hold this moment in her heart and mind in the battle to come.
So close to losing, she thought as her slender fingers scrambled over the worn fabric of his Tee-shirt—tugging, pulling, yanking. They had come so close to failure once already. Aizen and two years of hell had pushed Ichigo to breaking and left her picking up the shattered pieces.
They'd won—sort of—and Aizen had retreated.
Sadly, however it seemed that monsters never stayed gone for long, and with less than a year of 'peace' behind them there was an increase in Hollow activity and general wrongness that had prompted a fractured Soul Society to increase patrols and work already frayed and thin divisions to exhaustion.
Ichigo and his family and his friends helped as best they could, and for that Rukia was simultaneously grateful and saddened. Didn't they deserve a break? A life? Being a Shinigami was her responsibility—one she chose. Didn't Ichigo deserve that choice?
But if she asked him, he would tell her that he'd made it. That he did nothing he didn't want to do. She supposed that was true to an extent, but in reality he did an awful lot for her. When she had been sent back to Heuco Mundo to try and determine from where and why all the new Hollows were emerging, Ichigo had been furious.
The fact that she had been sent alone had made him threaten to storm Soul Society all over again. Instead, he had stormed Heuco Mundo—again. She'd been gone months when Renji had defied orders and gone to tell him that they no longer knew where she was, and that the scouting team sent to find her had come up empty.
So, Ichigo—being Ichigo—did what he did best. He told Soul Society and their rules and protocol to fuck off—and went to find her. He'd almost died—again—dragging her ass out of that place. Neither had discovered exactly who or what was responsible for the newest threat against them (although they both suspected Aizen), but what they did know for certain was that there was another battle looming, and that it wasn't going to be any prettier than the last one.
Ichigo would stand once more at her side—and too often in front of her—to fight. And she knew—before the first Zanpakto would be drawn that the Gotei 13 would rely on him—would rest their burdens on his shoulders.
And that made Rukia desperate. To protect him, to help him, to free him.
She'd come to him tonight to do just that. To tell him to stay out of it. To refuse them when they approached him. That he owed them—her—nothing. He had looked at her like she'd slapped him—which she did, moments later when he told her she that she was an idiot.
“I'm an idiot for not wanting you to interfere in business that isn't yours?” she'd demanded.
“It is,” he had said simply.
“It's not.”
“It is,” he had repeated, moving closer so that she'd had to crick her neck to look him in the eyes.
Her heart trembled in her chest and she tried to deny him.
He wouldn't let her. With a softening of his eyes, he touched her face. “Because you're my business.”
“You're a fool,” she whispered.
“For you?” he smirked. “Probably.” And then he'd kissed her.
It wasn't their first kiss—no, that had been when she'd joined him in Karakura Town before his fight with Aizen. He'd grabbed her—in front of his grinning, idiot father and her glowering brother and a leering Renji—and kissed her. Hard, fast, deep.
“Stay put, brat,” he had said. “Your damn hard to keep track of.”
So she expected now, to be much the same. Hard, fast, hurried...desperate. But it wasn't. Instead, Ichigo reached for her hands, folded his own over them and tucked them against his chest.
“Ichigo,” his name was a curse as he lifted his head.
His lips quirked, his eyes blazed, and he shook his head. Still holding both of her hands in one of his, he used the other to push the fabric of her uniform aside, baring the small curve of her shoulder. He feathered his fingers over her skin, his eyes heavy lidded. “Soft,” he murmured.
Her breath hitched somewhere between her chest and her throat and her lashes fluttered. “Ichigo.”
“I like it when you say my name,” he commented, lowering his mouth to her skin. He delivered gentle, barely there kisses. “No one else says it like you.” He nuzzled the dip beside her neck.
And in that one motion, Ichigo did what hundreds of Hollows had failed to. Rukia went weak in the knees. She felt him chuckle against her pulse and finally he released her hands. Sighing his name, she buried her fingers in his ridiculous orange spikes and held him. Just held him.
“Everything...is wrong...”he said, wrapping his arms around her, “when you're not with me.”
She understood. Because it was wrong for her too.
“And this,” he kissed her jaw, “is right.”
“Yes,” she agreed, turning her face so that her lips could graze his cheek, his ear. “Ichigo.”
“I don't want to rush,” he told her, slipping dark cloth down her arm. “I don't want to hurry. I want you...this...to stay.”
She closed her eyes. She did too.
She was breaking every rule, every ethic, every one of her self-imposed morals and she suddenly didn't care. If Kaien had taught her anything it was that she had to leave her heart with someone, and she could think of no one that she'd rather possess it than Ichigo.
Deciding, Rukia cupped his face between her hands, brought him to see her eyes, her resolve. “I like slow,” she whispered and he smiled.
Author:
windrider1Fandom: Bleach
Rating: PG
Pairings: Rukia x Ichigo
Warnings: None
Word count: Little over 1000
Summary: Decisions need to be made.
AN: Late, sorry!! Surprisingly not smut...
She had expected him to be hurried and rough, maybe a little clumsy even, because it was how she felt. She wanted--needed--to feel him against her; she needed to hear his harsh breaths and feel his heart hammer, so she could hold this moment in her heart and mind in the battle to come.
So close to losing, she thought as her slender fingers scrambled over the worn fabric of his Tee-shirt—tugging, pulling, yanking. They had come so close to failure once already. Aizen and two years of hell had pushed Ichigo to breaking and left her picking up the shattered pieces.
They'd won—sort of—and Aizen had retreated.
Sadly, however it seemed that monsters never stayed gone for long, and with less than a year of 'peace' behind them there was an increase in Hollow activity and general wrongness that had prompted a fractured Soul Society to increase patrols and work already frayed and thin divisions to exhaustion.
Ichigo and his family and his friends helped as best they could, and for that Rukia was simultaneously grateful and saddened. Didn't they deserve a break? A life? Being a Shinigami was her responsibility—one she chose. Didn't Ichigo deserve that choice?
But if she asked him, he would tell her that he'd made it. That he did nothing he didn't want to do. She supposed that was true to an extent, but in reality he did an awful lot for her. When she had been sent back to Heuco Mundo to try and determine from where and why all the new Hollows were emerging, Ichigo had been furious.
The fact that she had been sent alone had made him threaten to storm Soul Society all over again. Instead, he had stormed Heuco Mundo—again. She'd been gone months when Renji had defied orders and gone to tell him that they no longer knew where she was, and that the scouting team sent to find her had come up empty.
So, Ichigo—being Ichigo—did what he did best. He told Soul Society and their rules and protocol to fuck off—and went to find her. He'd almost died—again—dragging her ass out of that place. Neither had discovered exactly who or what was responsible for the newest threat against them (although they both suspected Aizen), but what they did know for certain was that there was another battle looming, and that it wasn't going to be any prettier than the last one.
Ichigo would stand once more at her side—and too often in front of her—to fight. And she knew—before the first Zanpakto would be drawn that the Gotei 13 would rely on him—would rest their burdens on his shoulders.
And that made Rukia desperate. To protect him, to help him, to free him.
She'd come to him tonight to do just that. To tell him to stay out of it. To refuse them when they approached him. That he owed them—her—nothing. He had looked at her like she'd slapped him—which she did, moments later when he told her she that she was an idiot.
“I'm an idiot for not wanting you to interfere in business that isn't yours?” she'd demanded.
“It is,” he had said simply.
“It's not.”
“It is,” he had repeated, moving closer so that she'd had to crick her neck to look him in the eyes.
Her heart trembled in her chest and she tried to deny him.
He wouldn't let her. With a softening of his eyes, he touched her face. “Because you're my business.”
“You're a fool,” she whispered.
“For you?” he smirked. “Probably.” And then he'd kissed her.
It wasn't their first kiss—no, that had been when she'd joined him in Karakura Town before his fight with Aizen. He'd grabbed her—in front of his grinning, idiot father and her glowering brother and a leering Renji—and kissed her. Hard, fast, deep.
“Stay put, brat,” he had said. “Your damn hard to keep track of.”
So she expected now, to be much the same. Hard, fast, hurried...desperate. But it wasn't. Instead, Ichigo reached for her hands, folded his own over them and tucked them against his chest.
“Ichigo,” his name was a curse as he lifted his head.
His lips quirked, his eyes blazed, and he shook his head. Still holding both of her hands in one of his, he used the other to push the fabric of her uniform aside, baring the small curve of her shoulder. He feathered his fingers over her skin, his eyes heavy lidded. “Soft,” he murmured.
Her breath hitched somewhere between her chest and her throat and her lashes fluttered. “Ichigo.”
“I like it when you say my name,” he commented, lowering his mouth to her skin. He delivered gentle, barely there kisses. “No one else says it like you.” He nuzzled the dip beside her neck.
And in that one motion, Ichigo did what hundreds of Hollows had failed to. Rukia went weak in the knees. She felt him chuckle against her pulse and finally he released her hands. Sighing his name, she buried her fingers in his ridiculous orange spikes and held him. Just held him.
“Everything...is wrong...”he said, wrapping his arms around her, “when you're not with me.”
She understood. Because it was wrong for her too.
“And this,” he kissed her jaw, “is right.”
“Yes,” she agreed, turning her face so that her lips could graze his cheek, his ear. “Ichigo.”
“I don't want to rush,” he told her, slipping dark cloth down her arm. “I don't want to hurry. I want you...this...to stay.”
She closed her eyes. She did too.
She was breaking every rule, every ethic, every one of her self-imposed morals and she suddenly didn't care. If Kaien had taught her anything it was that she had to leave her heart with someone, and she could think of no one that she'd rather possess it than Ichigo.
Deciding, Rukia cupped his face between her hands, brought him to see her eyes, her resolve. “I like slow,” she whispered and he smiled.
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