Author's Note: Holy hell something that isn't RenShuu. I feel like a big girl now. This is kind of short I'm sorry but at least there's lots of fluff?
There is something very satisfying, Rukia manages to think only a little smugly, about seeing her girlfriend on magazine covers and billboards. Something absurd about knowing that men and women everywhere can see Orihime's face and desire her and not even really know who she actually is.
Orihime is a very beautiful girl, and she makes a very beautiful model. People spend hours trying to perfect what in Rukia's opinion is already the loveliest face in advertising to pin up in their posters. Rukia barely has to turn over any fashion rag in her dance studio's lobby to find Orihime gazing back at her, deep gray eyes smoky and thick lashes curled, her soft, plump lips coated a perfect ruby red and brilliant orange hair splayed around her like a fiery halo. She's a vision in red, a fallen angel reveling in flames of crimson and gold.
People see Orihime all the time, but they still don't know her. Not the way Rukia does. Nine out of ten times, they see Orihime's picture and imagine that she's some shallow, vapid witch who stops across broken hearts like they're insects to be crushed under her six-inch imported leather heels. And that tends to be her most flattering description from strangers.
Only people who truly take the time to spare a second with her know Orihime couldn't be further than how her photographers display her. They don't know that the face done up in elegant make-up with curled tresses isn't nearly as gorgeous as the half-mad grin splitting her face open first thing in the morning when Rukia runs her fingers through the tousled bedhead draped across the pillows. That's something only Rukia gets to see.
One time Rukia came home to their loft (a beautiful loft, she might add, heavily decorated between the two of them and its cute and funky and all over reads the picture of their lives together) to find Orihime home from work, early.
That was a bad sign in and of itself.
And when Rukia was at her side she pulled Orihime's hands away from her face to see watery eyes and fat tears running down her cheeks. For Rukia it was like being a little kid again patching up her friends with cartoon Band-Aids while they cried and not entirely knowing what to do until a grown-up came to help. At Orihime's side was a newspaper article- some "Words From the People" where nobodies wrote in to bitch about things that nobodies cared about unless they were bitching- with Orihime's picture accompanied by words like "insipid", and "slutty" and "a negative role model who teaches youth to act like whores for attention" and Rukia just got.
So.
Fucking.
Mad.
One phone call later resulted in a stern word that was shared with the newspaper editors for allowing themselves to publish filthy slander for about half an hour before Rukia fully felt she got her point across. Then hot tea was graciously prepared to soothe sore wounds.
Orihime sniffled into her cup, eyes still a little watery and red enough from crying to make her make-up artist cringe when she showed up for her photo testing tomorrow. "Sorry. That was silly of me to get worked up about."
"No it wasn't." Rukia promised, pressing a kiss that tasted like chai tea to Orihime's forehead, "Its okay. I get frustrated by the amount of idiots out in the world, too."
Orihime giggled and let Rukia climb to sit in her lap, wrapping her arms around the smaller girl until Rukia was feeling distinctly more like a content favorite teddy bear than a big ball of outward rage towards whoever dared to make her precious Orihime cry.
They cuddled a bit more, which led to kissing which Rukia could appreciate quite a lot because Orihime was very good at it and could suck on Rukia's bottom lip until it felt like heaven even if it sort of left Rukia's mouth as one big embarrassing hickey to take care of later. Rukia wasn't too bad at this whole making out business either, if she did say so herself, and she loved the way Orihime panted breathily when Rukia pressed hard butterfly kisses down her neck and across her cleavage.
Clothing became irritating, especially when at any given time Orihime was decked out in about fifty layers of the latest spring fashion like a camera crew might pop out of the bushes at any given moment for an ambush. To her credit, it was a distinct possibility. Cameras loved Orihime, and her photographers happened to love her a whole lot more.
Orihime's shirt was the first to go, letting Rukia slip her top off even as she laughed at Rukia cussing out the multiple zippers and buttons until her sides hurt. Rukia had never considered herself a boob-girl until meeting Orihime, but then again Rukia suspected many people didn't suspect to be so into breasts before meeting Orihime.
Between Orihime's nearly impenetrable cocoon of fashion and Rukia's work get-up (a back leotard and pink sweatpants, because who said sporty couldn't be cute?) undressing was quiet the debacle but it was always worth it for the smoothness of hands stroking thighs and lovingly cupping breasts. For the addictive sensation of Rukia opening Orihime up with two fingers gliding into the soft heat between her legs and teasing her clit until voluptuous thighs clenched around Rukia's slim body and Orihime writhed into the cushions from pleasure.
Bringing Orihime to a climax was like an orgasm itself that Rukia hardly lasted long enough for Orihime's (beautiful, wonderful, precious) mouth to work up her thighs before a slender tongue prodded and lapped at her wet heat.
Both lay together in a tangle of limbs afterwards. Rukia kissed Orihime and tasted herself on her girlfriends tongue. Orihime smooched Rukia's cheek and didn't mind the sweat that Rukia had worked up from sex that sheened on her skin.
Neither of the girls much felt like walking all the way to the bedroom, so Rukia cajoled Orihime into a standing position just long enough to pull the couch out into a bed before Orihime collapses and conked out on the sheets, not even bothering to cover her naked, post-coital body in favor of curling up into instant sleep.
Rukia sighed, but it was a happy sigh that always accompanied a private, intently personal smile. Rukia yanked a comforter out from under the couch/bed and pulled it over her and Orihime's forms. Automatically, Orihime's arm was around Rukia's shoulder, although it had to be adjusted that it would not crush Orihime's breasts in her sleep. It made for an erotic image to go to bed to, but sore boobs in the morning would be a bitch.
Rukia snuggled up in Orihime's arms, smelling Orihime's expensive, model perfume and fancy shiny shampoo but also the sweet smell of candy that Orihime carried on her person all day and gave out like beads on Mardi Gras. It was wonderful, and she was wonderful, and Rukia felt wonderful.
People look at Orihime every day, and everyone knows she's beautiful. But Rukia doesn't think anybody quite knows it the way Rukia knows it.