A/N: Yay, it's my first published smut story! (Hm, should that really be something to celebrate?) Anyway, I wanted to post this before I turn fifteen in two days. Don't ask why; I'm not quite sure myself. This is dedicated to all those brilliant IchiRuki/HichiRuki smut writers out there, whose stories have taught me everything I need to know to be able to write this kind of stuff—especially Goku's Daughter since it's her birthday today and she's just a plain awesome writer.
Sweet Delusion
It's dark.
It's quiet.
Everything's at peace in the midst of night.
At least, in the rest of the Kurosaki house, it is.
But, inside Rukia's—technically, Ichigo's, but what can he do about it?—closet, it's a different story.
Rukia lies flat on her back against the sheets as Ichigo's body hovers over her. His lips capture hers in a crushing kiss, followed by another, and another. His hands travel down her sides to her hips, then to her stomach, and back again. But it isn't Ichigo who's doing this. It is his body—that much she's sure of—but he's not the one in control.
It isn't too hard for her to figure out who is. From the scent, the spiritual pressure and just this feeling she has in her gut, she easily recognises the kind of creature possessing Ichigo's body. There's doubt about it: it's a Hollow.
She doesn't really want to think about the sort of situation she's in right now, but it's not something that's easily avoided. After all, this all feels so surreal—like a dream—that the mind automatically tries to make sense of it by collecting the facts and piecing together everything it knows in an attempt to assure itself that this is, indeed, reality.
Rukia gathers the facts, but finds herself no closer to the truth than she was just a moment ago. It all seems like a muddle of fantasies and illusions as she seeks to get her head around these little details which keep piling up with the progression of time, each ticking of the second hand presenting her with a new image, thought and feeling.
She doesn't know how long this will go on; she doesn't even know if this is actually real. But there sure are some things that are feeling pretty damn real to her at the moment. She lists them out in her head, hoping to shed some light on her mystifying predicament.
There's a Hollow in Ichigo's closet with her.
There's a Hollow kissing her on the mouth and nipping at the sides of her neck.
There's a Hollow caressing her flesh and tugging at the hem of her dress.
It's the same Hollow that's making her heartbeat quicken with some unfathomable emotion—anticipation?—and raising goose bumps wherever his skin meets hers. She wants to push him away, yet she wants to pull him closer. She wants to ask him what he's doing here, yet she doesn't want to know. She wants him gone, and yet, her body yearns for his touch. In the end, all she knows is that she doesn't quite know what she wants.
Perhaps she doesn't quite know anything; nothing about this peculiar visitor of hers—his reasons, his motives nor his methods. But it's hard to pinpoint exactly what you don't know if you have no knowledge of it in the first place, so it's all she can do to stay where she is and wait for the Hollow to deliver what it is he has come to deliver. She'll figure the rest out later and plan her course of action from there. For now, however, she doesn't move, leaving the Hollow to his own devices.
He doesn't notice Rukia's deep absorption in her thoughts; he has more important things to occupy his concentration with. He leans in close and breathes her name into the shell of her ear, his breath hot and deliberate on her skin, and she shudders. He takes the opportunity to run his hand sensually up her leg, against her thigh and under the fabric of her nightdress.
She makes a sound that resembles both a hiss and a moan. She doesn't know which she was aiming for; he doesn't particularly care.
His hand journeys its way upwards until it reaches the bare skin of her stomach. And he stops.
He takes his time. He draws patterns on her flesh and traces the outline of her navel. His fingers—not his technically, but close enough—are rough and icy. The movements they make send shivers down her spine. That noise escapes her mouth again, though it sounds closer to a moan this time. He smiles a toothy grin, and continues.
The tips of his fingers snake their way up to her chest as his palm comes to rest against her breast, pushing her bothersome bra out of the way. He feels the hardened nipple beneath his hand and takes it as a good sign. He rubs the tip between his fingers and hopes for the best.
She doesn't disappoint.
Her moans bear no resemblance to that of a hiss anymore, which makes the Hollow quite smug. She doesn't bother to protest—it's pointless, and she knows it.
Aiming to get a further response from her, the Hollow lowers Ichigo's head down to her chest and takes one supple breast into his mouth. He draws his tongue slowly across the skin there, teasing the sensitive flesh around the tip. She arches her back, unconsciously entreating him to continue. He complies, placing his mouth just above her erect nipple, and bites down.
She loses control over herself, her legs now feeling like nothing more than jelly, and doesn't bother suppressing the long, sensual moan that escapes her lips.
The bites continue, travelling from one breast to the other, coupled with sucks and kisses that cause her toes to curl and her hands to clutch at the sheets. Once he grows tired of that, he decides to take a different approach. He pulls his face away from her chest, just slightly, and raises a finger to rest in the valley between her mounds. He then begins to trail it down, ever so slowly, ever so teasingly. She finds herself more and more aware of the uncontrollably hot tension building up in her core the further down his hand travels. The sensation when it reaches the edge of her underwear before swiftly digging under almost sends her over the edge.
He draws his finger through the patch of black curls affectionately—not roughly—quite the contrary from his usual manner of handling things.
But all this gentle petting is just a prelude. The main performance begins, however, when his finger travels further south and stops as it arrives at the slit of her entrance. Even without direct contact, he can feel the wetness leaking out, staining her underwear—and now his finger, too—with her fluids.
Her mind shouts at her to pull away—before this goes any further. But what is she to do? She can't exactly escape, trapped between the closet divider beneath her and Ichigo's tall, strong form above her. Then again, perhaps that's just an excuse; a lie unto one's self.
Perhaps she can't move because she just doesn't want to.
Perhaps she's content—more than content, actually—to simply lie here and let the Hollow do what he will.
She doesn't let it show; doesn't let anything but obstinacy shine through her eyes. She hides it all beneath the surface, where she impatiently awaits his next move. Even now, after she's already let it progress this far, she refuses to bring to light her veiled anticipation. She is fully aware that she isn't objecting as strongly to his actions as she knows she should be, yet she doesn't want him catching on to that.
But her lack of resistance is enough to tell the Hollow the words she would never dare speak: he has won.
His fingers itch with the same level of anticipation that he knows she is feeling at this very moment. Neither of them wants to move from their current position, though only one of them would be willing to admit it out loud.
Nevertheless, he will make her admit it. He doesn't care how long it will take; she will be his by the end of it all. He's sure of that.
But, plans for future exploits aside, there's still the matter of the situation at hand.
The Hollow is getting a little impatient. He isn't a fan of waiting; it's just not his thing. So he decides that now's as good a time as ever to begin.
The first movement he makes with his able hands is slow and drawn-out. He presses a finger against the surface of her entrance, sliding it across every curve, every fold, leaving no part of her untouched. By the end of it, his finger's all but soaked in her secretions as the silky, white discharge continues to drain from her body and into his sly hands. He pushes in a little deeper, submerging his finger in more of her fluids. Then, without warning, he shoves the tip of the digit in as far as it will go.
Rukia claws at the sheets beneath her and clenches her teeth. Still, the remnants of her silenced scream come out as a small whimper from between her traitorous lips. The Hollow is enjoying her struggles. So he continues to play his part, hoping she'll follow along and play hers. Now that his finger's inside, it's all a matter of figuring out what will really get her going.
The Hollow is all for trying out new things. And he makes no exception in this case. This is all just a little experiment to him, after all. Although, so far, it seems to be working quite well.
He starts out slow, fuelling her craving for his touch. He's very thorough in his ministrations, giving every inch of her walls equal treatment. But, naturally, he gets impatient again, and decides to help move things along with the addition of another one of his digits.
Rukia lets out a gasp at the feeling of a second finger inside, probing her womanhood with a force that was both aggressive and pleasurable at the same time. By this point, she's all but forgotten why this is so very wrong; all her strength is being put into containing the irrepressible feelings building up in her abdomen. Her mind is swimming with the wild sensations his fingers are sending through her body, and she knows she won't be able to hold it off much longer.
Just a few short seconds later, she's fast approaching her peak. She can't deny it: the fingers inside her are doing a damn good job. They're rough and succinct but not intending to cause any pain; instead, they seem to know exactly how hard to press to send her head spinning with undiluted pleasure.
Moments after, her walls are caving in tight around his fingers and preparing itself for the finale.
She comes in a wave of hot, wet secretion. When the Hollow finally withdraws Ichigo's fingers from within her, he finds them covered to the tip with her milky extracts. Seizing the opportunity now, he lowers his head to her sex and positions his lips at her entrance. He opens his mouth and blows at her opening, eliciting a hitched breath and a violent shudder from Rukia. He goes on to seal the sides of his jaw around her cleft, thrusting out his adroit tongue to taste her.
After receiving several potent and fulfilling licks from the warm, wet muscle in his mouth, she's instinctively arching herself towards him, begging his tongue—or another part of his body, for that matter—to penetrate deeper inside her. She finally moves the hands that have been dormant at her sides this whole time and weaves them into Ichigo's prickly orange locks. She moans and pulls him closer, only craving his touch now and registering nothing else.
He smirks then, knowing his job is done. And so, he pulls away, leaving Rukia exceedingly unsatisfied and frustrated with his retreat. He flashes an impish smile at her, relaying the message that he will be back. Despite his size and demeanour, he is swift and agile in manoeuvring the closet door and departing without leaving a single trace of his little visit—well, except for Rukia's dishevelled appearance and the condition of her nightwear.
She lies there motionless against the pile of sheets, trying to grasp in her mind what just happened between her and Ichigo—or rather, between her and Ichigo's inner Hollow. In the end, she fools herself into believing it was all a cross between a dream and a hallucination, and falls into unconsciousness yet again, hoping she may relive that sweet delusion once more.
A/N: I would appreciate advice on improving my smut-writing skills as it is something I am not personally familiar with. Anyway, there'll be a full lemon in the next chapter, which shall be the conclusion to this two-shot that was originally a one-shot, though I haven't exactly done much work on that yet...