title. i just want you for my own (more than you could ever know)
summary. She sits on the table, and from the moment he enters, a scent of vanilla, a faint smell of red bean paste, strawberries and something deliciously sweet fill his nostrils, catching him off guard, freezing his thoughts and his actions.
prompt. "whipped cream and strawberries… imagination", a bit of "princess-themed"
note. for FLOL Holiday Exchange. for my lovely giftee, angelwingkitsune. Happy Holidays! :DD hope you like this! :) really had a hard time with the titleso i chose a line from the song by Mariah Carey "all I want from Christmas is you". also, MERRY CHRISTMAS MY FRIENDS! thank you for reading my stuffs :)) ICHIHIME FTW! yay!
disclaimer. applied, a-huh.
warning. slightly suggestive content.
_.
He lay there, on his bed, legs apart and an arm on his forehead. His chocolate eyes are half-lidded, staring at whatnot, waiting for the sleep to come and take him inside his dreams. His eyes stare lazily outside the window, watching the slow fall of snowflakes with no interest. His eyelids drop, his breathing evens, his body relaxes.
When he hears soft sounds of slow footsteps, his eyes snap open, and narrow in curiosity but more in question as he strains his ears to listen. There they are. Sounds of footsteps, he is sure. Curious as to why someone is still up, he rolls to his side, sits up and glances at the alarm clock. It reads: 12:01.
Christmas Eve.
Frowning deeply, he stands up. Without making a noise, even the slightest sound of his bare feet, he walks up to his door, opens it and steps into the hallway.
No one is there.
His frown deepens.
Still perturbed by the sounds he heard, he first checks his sisters' room, making sure they are alright and their sleep is undisturbed. Satisfied that they are safe, he later strolls down to inspect the living room. Like the hallway, the room is empty. He is about to return to his room when he notices that the light in the kitchen is on. Frown deepening, he makes his way to the kitchen. He curls his fists, ready, suspecting a burglar, who dare… to ransack their fridge? He pushes this ridiculous idea away and stalks closer, faster.
He enters, and he is unprepared to see what – or who – dare sneaks inside their home.
She sits on the table, and from the moment he enters, a scent of vanilla, a faint smell of red bean paste, strawberries and something deliciously sweet fill his nostrils, catching him off guard, freezing his thoughts and his actions.
He opens his mouth to ask why she is here, how she ends up here in their kitchen and tell her it is late, but she smiles a half-smile, innocent, unassuming and very shy, and he forgets what to say as he gawks in shock and in confusion while his eyes lower from her red-cheeked, wide-eyed face.
She sits on the table, legs together, all thin ankles, and small feet dangling off the floor. What floors him so is her state of dress – or undress – for she is wearing… What is this? His eyes bulge. She's not wearing anything at all! His face heats up and he opens his mouth in an attempt to question her why she's wearing a whipped cream as her dress!
But he is unable to string two words together as she opens her legs slightly, her cute toes curling. He gawks in disbelief as his gaze takes in the sight. Atop of her head full with rich auburn hair is a glittering princess tiara. Thick, white and very fluffy whipped cream artfully covers the whole of her generous breasts. Some whipped cream is dripping off her ample chest to dribble down her pale stomach, leaving some spaces to expose some skin. The area between her breasts is filled and thick with cream. A small, glass bowl of strawberries is on her lap, covering the apex of her thighs. Aside from the tiara, whipped cream and bowl of strawberries, she is bare, and he finds himself unable to look away from those bare legs.
When he manages to lift his gaze to her wide eyes, he finds her smiling shyly, delicately, and the innocence of her smile greatly contrasts against her artful nudity. However, despite her nakedness, she retains her air of innocence. His gaze drops to her red cheeks and generous cream-covered breasts, and he feels a bead of sweat rolls down from his temple to his jaw.
Uncomfortably watching her lick her lips unsurely, he clears his throat first and speaks. "Wha… What are you doing here, I-Inoue?" He asks quietly, hating himself inwardly because of the slight stammer in his voice as he speaks her name.
She smiles as a response, but it is still shy. She raises a hand to her bottom lip, thick lashes lowered to hide her eyes. And then, her hand moves to her hair to tuck a long strand of auburn hair behind her ear, but a rebellious lock falls forward and she tucks it again. While she is doing this, her thin, naked arm moving with the movement of her fingers, more whipped cream trickles down to her stomach. Cream starts to dissolve into less solid form. More chest skin is exposed and he wants to point this out to her but his voice leaves him, and he does not have any other choice but to stare and enjoy the beautiful view. It is like watching a slow unveiling of a new art masterpiece.
With a finger still behind her ear, she looks at him underneath her lashes. She watches him, and under her half-lidded gaze, he is uncomfortable. It is winter, but the room suddenly feels warm. Very, very warm…
He gulps, and prays she does not see it. But the look in her eyes, the way the corner of her lips lift slightly in a coy smile tells him she notices his discomfort.
"Relax."
He jerks at the sound of her voice. So soft. Maybe as soft as her – He blinks as she lowers her hand to pick up a strawberry from the bowl. Innocently, she stares at it, her bottom lip between her teeth. She looks at him quickly, scanning him from his bare feet (her gaze lingers at his stomach the longest) to his face.
Their eyes meet.
Her gray eyes darken.
Heat builds up.
Slowly, without breaking eye contact, she brings the succulent fruit to her lips. With heated eyes, he watches her teeth sink into the fruit. Juice squeezes out and dribbles from the corner of her mouth down to her chin.
He swallows hard.
She chews delicately, savoring the taste, eyes half-lidded. He wonders if she kisses like the way she chews: delicately relishing the delicious taste of the fruit before consuming it. She is watching him as she chews, and he returns the stare with the same intensity. She blinks, her eyes close quickly but they open slowly, lashes lifting to reveal her gray eyes.
She stops chewing, her throat moving as she swallows. They stare at each other silently and his eyes follow her movement as she lowers the fruit to her generous cleavage. To his astonishment, she lathers the fruit with the cream. His jaw drops at this. He knows it's rude to stare but who could not? More cream dissolves into liquid and more and …more skin are exposed, dangerously revealing the tips of her mounds. But she seems to forget this as she keeps rolling the fruit, covering it with cream.
He opens his mouth to say something, anything. But she says with smile, "I love strawberries." And with that, she consumes the whole fruit and moans as she chews, her eyelashes dropping dreamily.
Suddenly, his shirt is so tight, as well as his drawstring pajama pants.
She rubs the corner of her mouth, wiping off excess cream. Afterwards, she sticks her finger inside her mouth and sucks it off.
"Inoue…" He whispers, voice cracking and her big, moist eyes meet his hardened, heated gaze. They beckon him to move closer. He wants to resist.
"Come." She says in her soft, soft voice.
But who is he to oppose a princess in a tiara and whipped cream sitting on his dinner table?
He obeys with tentative steps. She is encouraging him, he thinks, when she smiles at him while sucking her finger. Gradually, his steps become surer. He is closer now, close enough to smell her. He shakes a little, blushing at the up close view of a naked, beautiful body. Her skin looks smoother and paler up close. He watches her take another fruit and nibbles on it eagerly, making soft, wet sucking noises. Satisfied, she tosses the fruit inside her mouth, licks her index finger and smiles at him.
"Closer." Her whisper caresses his slicked skin.
He only stares into her eyes.
"Kurosaki-kun."
Oh god.
He groans low in his throat. Her voice. The sound of his name from lips, the way she say it, the way it slithers from her tongue to his ears.
Kurosaki-kun. The sound is like a caress to his skin.
Kurosaki-kun. It sounds like a lick to his lips.
Kurosaki-kun. With just his name from her lips, he'd go anywhere and be anything for her.
Kurosaki-kun. He reaches out. He wants to touch her. His eyes eagerly watch the whipped cream dissolves and follow its descent as the melting cream exposes more glistening skin.
Kurosaki-kun. Her big innocent eyes enchant him to touch her. Those wide, moist eyes goad him, tease him, and he find it harder and harder to resist.
Kurosaki-kun. He is unbelievably compelled to touch her. He wants to touch her. He wants to know how it will feel like to move his hand over her skin and feel her move under his palms. She will feel soft, he knows.
Kurosaki-kun. He takes her hand from her damp lips. She lets him.
Kurosaki-kun. Grip tightens. More whipped cream dissolves. The bowl of strawberries catches the melting whipped cream. Her legs part slowly.
Kurosaki-kun. She… and the picture she presents before him, a mixture of innocence and lewdness, is something he, who respects women due to his deep love and respect for his deceased mother, would gladly sin for.
…
Her mouth opens, lips parting.
Kurosaki-kun…?
…
…
…
…
Kurosaki-kun?
Kurosaki-kun!
He blinks.
Kurosaki-kun.
What—
"Kurosaki-kun!"
Ichigo jerks as though electrocuted. Stunned, he turns his face around. Concerned gray eyes gaze at him.
"Are you alright?"
"Wha… What?"
Orihime smiles patiently, red-cheeked and wide-eyed. "Are you alright? You fell quiet all of a sudden and…" her voice trails off, her face flushing a darker shade of red. "My… my h-h-hand…"
The substitute shinigami blinks obliviously, offering a confused, dazed look.
"My h-hand… Er, your hand… is…" the auburn-haired girl makes wild gestures, the blush spreading down to her neck.
Ichigo looks at their joined hands but doesn't release hers.
"Are you okay, Kurosaki-kun? Oh!" She pokes her cheek with her free hand. "I see! I knew it! The aliens zap you with super sonic twin laser beam, don't they?! The… The aliens kidnap your brain!? Oh no!" She presses a palm against her cheek. "Kurosaki-kun, I'll save your brain!"
"My…" Ichigo stares at her before his gaze falls to her body, clad in their school uniform, not in whipped cream. He blinks and stares hard with wide, almost wild eyes.
"Ano…" Orihime blushes harder under Ichigo's uncharacteristic intense stare at her body. She fidgets, her cheeks flaming brightly. "Kurosaki-kun, are you okay? You… you don't look okay! Your face is so red and… and… and y-y-your…h-hand is holding…"
Ichigo blinks again and confusedly stares at the hand in his hand. True enough, he is holding her hand and is bringing her fingers closer to his mouth.
"I… I… M-m-m-my h-hand…" Orihime is blushing furiously, quivering. She can feel his hot breath on her fingers. Their friends around them are watching them with confusion.
Slowly, brown eyes widen. Wait a damn minute… Ichigo looks up to her concerned eyes and pales at his realization. Did I just… He drops her hand with a blush and a yelp, jumps to his feet, looks around wildly, flushes brightly and without looking back, bolts out of her sight, almost flying towards the door of the rooftop, almost knocking Renji and Rukia off who just arrive.
Orihime blinks after him, hand in air. "Eh? Kurosaki-kun?"
Their friends stare after the tangerine teen. Tatsuki shrugs it off and continues her conversation with Ishida. Sado remains blissfully calm. "What's wrong with him?" Rukia asks, arching a brow in question as she stops in front of Orihime.
Orihime sighs, nibbling her half-eaten cream-covered strawberry eagerly. "I don't know." She replies as she slumps in defeat, sucking her wet and sticky index finger.
"I only asked him what he wants for Christmas."
_
.end