Disclaimer: I do not own Bleach nor do I make any profit from this story. The title is taken from and Artic Monkeys song by the same name.
A/N: Ok, so I am primarily a Yaoi writer as you may already know, but given my own sexuality and the fact that I love women just as much as men, I thought "What the heck, why not write a yuri?" So here it is, my first Yuri between one of my favorite Yuri pairings. It is short, it's a little longer than a drabble, but not long enough to be regular length. If the response for this is good, I may do a second part from the alternate perspective. Sound good? Well, enjoy!
Warning: Not THAT graphic depictions of sex
TillThatTime
Dance Little Liar
She's standing in front of me.
Her body is still, statuesque, unmoving with the slight tremors of nervousness, anticipation, lust, and rage that are no doubt taking over my own frame. She stares at me, her gold eyes squinted slightly from the force of her nearly lecherous grin. And in all my life I swear that I've never seen anything as beautiful as her. Every single moment that I look at her I am reminded of why I do this to myself. She is the illusion of perfection that fools me every single time.
She takes a step towards me. I will my body to take one back, my mouth opening, ready to question her on why she's here, yet again. The inquiry gets stuck in my throat, dry and painful as I watch her hands raise up slowly to untie the knot of her simple top. Long, elegant fingers work at the tie until it gives easily and the strings fall, revealing without modest ceremony the exquisiteness of her upper body. Lean abdominal muscles incased in velvety dark flesh, an elegant curve of a navel dip, a small beauty mark on the left side of her lovely hips, and breasts, perfectly formed, much larger than my own, raising slightly with each breath as those pretty brown nipples harden in the chill of the night. All these things I've seen many times, but it's never enough, so I've memorized them completely, down to each angle and curve so when the day comes that she finally leaves me forever, I'll at least have my memories to hold onto and begrudge.
I feel humbled by her body, inadequate and ugly next to her. She often tells me that's not true, but I do not believe her. She's advancing on me again, her cat-like grin widening even further as she notices the way I stare at her, notices the way my hands reach forward on their own accord and my teeth come out to bite my lip to keep the sound at bay that threatens to spill out just from the sight of her. I want to hate her for this power she has over me. No one should be able to control me like this, no one should be able to make me feel like I should bend to their every will, but I can't bring myself to muster up those type of feeling towards her, not really, because just one glance of her is all that it takes to bring me to my knees, and no matter how much my pride protests, it will never win against her.
Within seconds she is in front of me, and her hands come up to clasp at my own outstretched ones, our different skin tones making a nearly beautiful contrast in the moonlight that seeps into my home. She guides my hands to her breasts. I let her do so with no protest. Her nipples poke at the sword calloused flesh of my palms, and she feels warm and heavy and delicious in my hands. I do groan this time, low, somewhere in the back of my throat and I'm so entranced by the presence of her that I hear and feel the amused chuckle she admits, but I do not register it enough to be embarrassed by it.
I lean forward, my lips coming to rest on her heart, and for a moment I just breathe her in. She smells of warm grass and lightening and…him. She smells like him. It's faint but it's there. Something inside me snaps, my little, delicate resolve crumbles and I lurch forward, spin us, and press her roughly against the wall, only momentarily worried about whether or not the wood has scraped the beautiful flesh of her back.
She gasps for a second, having the decency to sound surprised, even though she's probably not. I waste no time attaching my lips to the soft skin of her neck. My tongue drags along, my teeth scrape, my hands knead almost roughly at her breasts and terrible little whimpers of desperation fall unbidden from my throat. I, in that moment, want to claim her as mine and only mine over and over again. I want to break her down, shatter her perfection and rebuild it into dedication for me. I want to tame this soul that has over powered me and I want to wipe off everything on her that's fake…namely him.
She purrs in satisfaction from somewhere above, or maybe it's a growl and her hands come up to tangle in my hair, but I pull them away just as quickly, press them back against the wall, hold her in a bind of my hands and my body that she could easily break if she wanted to.
She chuckles as I bite viciously into her collarbone, arching slightly into the touch even as I taste the coppery essence of her blood.
"My my, what an aggressive little bee you are tonight." She says clearly, her voice holding no hint of strain, and I curse against her skin as I trail my lips and teeth and tongue downwards until I'm circling one protruding peak of flesh noticing the way it hardens even further when I poke it just right with my tongue, or suck with just enough pressure. Little bee, little bee, oh how I've grown to hate that term of affection. Years of adoration, love, lust and degradation all spent willingly for the sake of her has turned me into something more. My desperation for her has created a monster in me that started out small and grew and grew until there was no longer a little monster in me but I was the fucking little monster myself.
I am the little monster, and she is the little liar. The little liar that tricks the childish little monster every time. However, I suppose that's not really the truth. She never really promised me anything to begin with. She never promised to devote herself entirely to me. She never promised that I wouldn't have to share her like some precious little toy between too grubby handed children. She never promised that she wouldn't leave me. Yet, every time she kisses me, holds me, fucks me, they feel like little lies, little lies that I desperately want to believe.
My hands reach up to her hair, clasp it roughly in one hand while the other pulls on the cord that holds it together. Thick strands of deep purple cascade over my hands falling around us like a protective veil, and for a moment I relish in the feel of it brushing against my cheeks, before I'm sinking slowly to the floor and unto my knees, in a position that feels familiar physically and emotionally whenever I am in her presence. I look up to her from my position below her, knowing that this was how it would always be, no matter how much I improved, no matter what rank I achieved, no matter how much I was respected, it would always be me looking up to her for approval while she smiles fondly down at me, her precious little bee.
"Buzz buzz." She hums and I burry my face in her flat stomach, not wanting to look at her to see her expression filled with affection and apology for the things she's made me feel but not the things she's done. We both know that I know I'm not the only one who gets to see her like this, that privilege is shared with a man who hides behind fans and cleverly formed lies, and I have to wonder, not for the first time, if he loves her even half as much as I do.
I'm not sure which answer I would prefer.
It is not apart of my pride to watch as the things that should belong to me are possessed, even if only momentarily, by another, but she has always been an exception to every single rule I've firmly set in place. To me, no matter the pain it causes me, to have her and share her is profoundly better than not having her at all.
My fingers fumble with the tie of her pants, making me feel clumsy and inexperienced, and I inhale sharply as they finally slip down her long lean legs. She wears no garment under her clothes, she never has, and it used to embarrass me, cause me cheeks to heat in a blush, but now I can only groan helplessly as the scent of her hits me.
I feel vindictive tonight, just a little rebellious, so I decide to tease her. I run my tongue along one protruding hipbone to another, the heat of her skin burning my appendage. I follow a line upward to her belly button, thrusting into it with my tongue in a lewd act of the things she's done with a stupid man. I nip harshly at the flesh, draw it into my mouth, suck it, and mark her with no sense of pride because I know she will never fully belong to me anyway.
A hand falls into my hair, tangling in it and pulling and I'm forced to look up at her. Her eyes are glazed, and her mouth open in a pant, and for everything that I don't have, at least I have this.
"Soi fon," She warns sharply. "Not tonight."
This is not a night for playful teasing, even if there's nothing playful in my intentions but rather some small form of punishment for the pain she causes me, but I find myself respecting her wishes as always, and my mouth falls on her, and I hear her gasp sharply from above.
My tongue darts out to taste her and to savor the familiarity of it and the way she trembles beneath the hands that I've now placed on her hips. I urge her legs wider by placing my bent knees between them and her hands are still clutching at my hair, pulling none too gently as I make long swipes and small flicks, playing her body to a tune that only I have memorized and perfected. One of my hands removes itself from its position on her hip and with a single finger I trace her opening before plunging it inside, wanting to cry at the thought of something else much longer than my fingers being inside of her. I wonder how many times before she came to me that he touched her like this, licked her like this, fucked her like my fingers are now attempting to do. My fingers will never reach as far as him, never implant themselves like he can. I wonder why she comes to me at all. Would I be better if I were a man, would she choose to only be with me then? I doubt these are questions that I will ever get the answer to.
She is thrusting her hips into my face now, moving in time with my strokes, and I allow her to, welcome it even. She cries out long and beautifully and suddenly with a harsh flick of my tongue on her sensitive bud she tightens insanely around my fingers, her back arching off the wall as she reaches the throes of ecstasy into my mouth. I moan, my own sex throbbing between my legs, but my own pleasure will always come second to hers in my mind. I continue to stroke her gently as she rides out her orgasm. After a few moments she collapses back against the wall, breathing harshly and I rest my cheek once more on her trembling belly. Her hands are now back to carding through my hair, only much more gently this time, she hums softly, enjoying the moment and in the tenderness of it all, the tears finally come. They fall wet and heavy against her stomach and I sob softly, wanting nothing more than to hold onto her forever even though I'll have to let her go by sunrise. She sinks down along the wall, her hands pulling me to be held against her, cooing softly in my ear.
"Shh, don't cry, little bee."
And for some reason her sweet voice and the smell of her hair along my face just causes me to sob harder