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You are a summer night
The way you keep me up
So hot the sheets stick to me
I have to open the windows,
Take off all my clothes
Morning comes and I still
Feel you on my skin
— Melody Ryan
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A/N: Let's imagine.
Between you and me, that the gigai is a droll and demeaning vessel for a soul, not only in the sense that it depletes some spiritual power. But also, in an emotional sense.
With that being said, let's pretend that the gigai has a very small—I'm talking meticulously small limit for emotion. When in the gigai you are numb in a sense, of course you can walk and speak and all of the essentials, but as far as feeling, it is impossible to. You crave some sort of emotional explosion, not just the traces of anger or happiness that sort of linger and can be expressed verbally or physically. You want something stronger, something passionate, a rush that racks your body with heat and chills, like a cigarette burn to the skin. You need something to fulfill your itching desire, to feel. How far will you go to preserve your sanity and get that euphoric rush?
Extra: +18 or mature please. Voyeurism, third person POV, one-shot with the possibility of being launched as its own full fiction if a plot is established.
Thanks for reading! Reviews are appreciated!
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There's tranquility about the place, it's somewhat quiet since Yuzu and Karin have not returned home from school, and Isshin is out among the town "taking care of business".
He noticed that, upon returning to his humble beginnings, with a plastic grocery bag hanging by his side; full of produce that Yuzu specifically requested to be brought for tonight's dinner. She entrusted the task to him, her older brother Kurosaki Ichigo, with the like of knowing that it would slip his mind as most things do.
However, the clever Yuzu had an ace in the hole; there existed something that would keep even Ichigo's mind sharp. Something that wouldn't let him forget, because that something was approached by Yuzu and asked to remind her busy-minded brother to fulfill the task. That something, that someone, is Kuchiki Rukia. Heroine of the Kurosakis, or so some would call her.
To Ichigo, she began as a heroine, evolved into a pest and then somehow from there…grew into a close infrangible companion.
Speaking of which, where is this woman? She'd insisted on Ichigo going and getting the pickles himself while she went about doing…god only knows what. Ichigo secured his front door closed and locked, and replaced the plastic bag in the refrigerator in the kitchen. He stood stiffly, stretching his arms toward the ceiling to relieve the tenseness in his back. His only goal now was to take off the ash gray jacket and trousers of his school uniform, and dive into the shower…then into something more comfortable to wear about the house.
He would worry about where Rukia was later. Surely if there were any trouble, he would detect it. She could go about her secrecy for as long as she'd like and return, preferably before dinner. Either that or Yuzu would be rather fitful about Rukia not joining them…it's odd how she'd become like an extension of the family rather than a free-loading guest.
He's slow and quiet, not with the intention of being sneaky, but simply because he is tired. Furthermore, he hadn't thought there was any reason to be stealthy or anything to sneak up on, since he'd been home alone.
Home alone, or so he thought.
Upon inspection further down the hall of the second floor he notices, his bedroom door is closed. Not slightly ajar, as it would have been if he'd lightly tugged the knob when he was leaving, but it was sealed absolutely shut. He wouldn't have, and couldn't have, done this himself; which only left the conclusion that he was not alone.
Someone, something, is in his room.
"It's probably Kon," he hissed venomously. What would that insufferable nuisance be doing now? Ichigo came to his door and lightly gripped its chilling metal handle; he would've turned it immediately if it had not been for the inquisitive sounds protruding through his bedroom door. Sounds that he wouldn't have originally picked up, if it hadn't been for the keenness of his ears, for the sound is soft and strangled as if it had not wanted to be heard…
Without resolve or actual thinking, he pressed his ear firmly against the coolness of his door. What was it? It was hard to tell even with his hearing, because of its coyness. It was silent, silent enough for him to believe that maybe, it'd only been his imagination…and then—
Again. A soft, sharp…breath? Is it gasping that he's hearing? Why would there be such inconspicuous and covert gasps emerging from his room?
It had to be Rukia. He'd concluded that, and yet, he had not come up with a reason as to why. Or why he'd had his ear pressed to his bedroom door? But the answer to that was obvious.
He's become his father.
That alone was enough to deliver a hefty wallop to his brain and kick start it back into reality. He shook himself free of the worrying thought and righted his posture, again, handling the cold doorknob. Still, he had not wanted to bombard himself into his room and possibly startle her into a pact of silence. Then he'll never receive the answers he is looking for.
It's decided then. He'll be quiet, and depending on where she is in his room, he can at least crack his door and remain unsuspected. Thankfully it didn't creak or make any obvious sounds, when he turned the knob and gave it a light push to barely open it, he could slip an eye through the crack and find her.
This is lecherous, he thought. There's no telling what she could be doing, and god forbid he catch her in some sort of stage of undress, or possibly naked. She would definitely kill him if caught. With his current position he could just barely see the foot of his bed, and a slim leg cloaked in the dark knee-high stocking Rukia wore to school today. No questioning it now, it was definitely Rukia that was the source of the sound…but what the hell was she doing in his bed?
Maybe, if he could open the door just a little more…
An intangible stake has bored itself through the girth of Ichigo's skull and pierced through his brain, he's stricken with a new tenseness, almost inflexible as stone! His blood ran cold and thin as water, rushing to his heart and imparting new quickness to its erratic pulse. He slaps his hand around his mouth and face so that his expression of abashment is not heard, and he quickly flips himself over to compact his back against the wall adjacent to his cracked bedroom door.
No, no way. He couldn't be seeing right, there was no way that was Rukia…
Who else would it be? He squeezed his shut thin into tight lines, and inhaled hard through his nose. He needed one more look, just to be sure. Just to be sure…
Again, he gently turned on his foot to just barely stick his head into his room, one more time, to look on his bed. It takes just about every lingering ounce of willpower he had in himself to keep from exuding any noise of his existence. As wide as his eyes are now, there is no mistaking it…
It's Rukia, in her stocking and her school uniform that she's overlapped with a large loose-fitting purple shirt. His purple shirt! She's lain across his bed, her legs writhing, lifting, bending, and falling straight again. They're quaking violently, her toes are curling in her stockings and pulling at the clothes of his bed. Her skirt is raised to her hips, and his shirt she wore is held firmly to her nose and mouth to cover the lower portion of her face. Her eyes are closed so tightly that her brows have furrowed, her hand has disappeared betwixt her lengthy legs, and her body writhes and slips against his disheveled sheets. She breathes heartily and heavily and jerks her hips; the expressions she releases are short and sweet mild squeaks of passion.
No way could this be happening before his very eyes, no way could he be watching this, her private act of lust. It was indecent of him to invade on such a thing right under her nose…but he wishes more than anything, that she would remove the shirt from her face so that he can see it in its entirety.
He wants to relish in the beauty of her expression contorted in desire, he wants to see her lips tremble and curl and be bitten bloodless, he wants to enter and remove his shirt from her face himself. And while he's at it; remove her skirt, her blouse, her underwear…if she would allow him to.
Or, would she really even want him to? She's always gone on and on about how she'd preferred a man like Byakuya instead of him. Could that be who she's thinking of? Byakuya? The very thought of it was enough to smother his excitement dead and instead resurrect an intense jealousy and spitefulness that could drive a man to do some crazy things.
Like intrude on your best friend's alone-time and show her what the real thing is like. He would drive her to the very edge of her sanity and bring her back again, just to thrust her all the way over, again, and again. And again. And again…
He just wants to hear her voice. To hear her sound, completely unmuffled. He wants to hear her cry out and whimper, and shrill, and moan. And gasp and pant, and maybe if he's lucky, say a few provocative things that would make any person go crazy. What he wants is for her to treat the situation as if he was there and actually there, in the bed with her, instead of behaving like the lecherous peeping tom he's berated himself to be. Finally, he may have gotten his wish! For the hand which has kept his shirt so tightly muzzled around her face has fallen, and instead crept up and under the shirt to knead the skin which he so desperately wishes he could see….
But at least now he can see her face, to an extent, given his current perspective of just barely getting a look of it depending on how she tilts her head. Her eyes are still closed however. Maybe given this fact…he could possibly squeeze himself in, just a tad bit more? Just to get a better observation…if anything, she wouldn't be able to see him around his closet right? He was never too great when it came to angles and what not, what he was doing now was soaring off a wing, and a prayer. Just a little more couldn't hurt.
There, this new position was definitely better to get the glorious eyeful he so desperately desired. Although he'd still barely been able to see her face, he could see the wriggling silhouette of her body much better, and decided to be grateful just given that. Just watching her exquisite stems rattling and squeezing closed tightly around her active hand…what he would give to be in between her thighs. While continuing to gaze upon her he ceremoniously utters the fact, that he can do better. He can do so much better. And upon ever being given the opportunity to do so, he would jump at the chance to prove it.
At least now, her tiny whimpers are creeping out better, given that her mouth is no longer covered with his shirt. Yes, he's catching the melodic strokes of her erratic breath and the kisses of her periodic soft and pitchy whines much better now, not that he was intended to. Her legs are avid now, shaking more enthused and parting so that her hand is given more leeway to work at her core in a frantic fast-paced dynamic. Whatever has gotten her worked up now…is paying off greatly in the advantage that now she is much more lively. Her soft and sharp rasping has turned into hot and heavy heaves of air, and her hips are bucking more ferociously than before. This is all so incredibly enticing, so much so that the pit of his stomach has contorted itself into tight knots and his legs have practically gone to gelatin.
Is she close to climax? She must be, given the sudden upbeat quickness. God is she incredible to watch like this, he's never seen her so impassioned or excited about anything. Ever. Just as she's peaked, her eyes glide open and her head tilts at an angle which he is given the blessing of looking into her lust-riddled face. He can see clearly, the ice in her eyes crackling and melting, filling them with water that glosses over and gives them an ethereal shine. Her face is rosy pink in contrast to her normally pale skin; it's glowing radiantly in the dimness of the unlit bedroom. Her lips have parted wider, for her to inspire deeply, and exhale.
And all this time he hadn't once considered that if he can look into her eyes…that she too, can see him clearly.
Her lips are trembling, or so they seem, surprisingly slow as if she is instead mouthing the syllables of a word…
…or a name.
Ichigo's eyes stretch their widest and he pinches his lips between his teeth. He swiftly exits the room, making sure to close the door just as quietly as he opened it.
Was he really seen? Of course he was, despite her gigai Rukia was just as sharp in senses as she was in just her soul being. Again, he pressed himself firmly against the wall, and this time, he fell to the ground with his knees up to his chest and his head between them. The reality of what he's done, and what he's witnessed, has all come crashing down on his light head. His fingers are embedded in the wild orange mane that nested atop his head that burned with dark blush, maybe he was just imagining things, but it almost looked like…
Rukia muttered Ichigo's name. While she was playing with herself? No. It can't be…it's not like he heard it or anything. It's just…an observation.
But just imagine if she had.
Ichigo squeezed his eyes shut and bowed his head. He squeezed his hand around his eyes, and swallowed heavily. The stretching in his trousers is not enough to sustain his own arousal, and the fit within them has become painfully tight. Dammit.
He'd better go, whether it be downstairs or someplace else. It'd be best if he left her to think no one was home, if she hadn't already seen him…but if she did see him….
What was that thing he said earlier? About her killing him?