Author's Note: This was originally written for a Bleach meme on LiveJournal. Not just any meme; a kink meme. The request was thus: "Tousen/Orihime; sensory deprivation". Either way, it was just going to be a five hundred (or so) word drabble, but it got a little out of control. Not to mention I'd been thinking about this... most unusual pairing in the last few, so when an opportunity presented itself, I had to seize it. I've done some other requests on the meme, which I'll probably post in a drabble series later (when I have at least ten). Sorry for the long pause from me. You know those days when you just want to kill yourself? It's been one of those months. Personal angst aside, please enjoy!

Disclaimer: I do not own Bleach, nor any of its respective characters, locations, etc.

"Sensational"

Orihime wanted to raise her arms and rip off her blindfold, sick and scared of all the darkness. For hours she had been sitting there in her room, wanting to claw at the thick strip of cotton denying her sight. But her hands, shaking in their lust, stayed at her side, balled into fists. She had stopped walking around after she'd caused herself enough clumsy damage, and she would certainly not wander into the halls of Las Noches blindly - especially since she couldn't protect herself when she could see.

And the fact remained that she couldn't, so she sat on her bed, back to the wall, and listened. She listened to everything: every creak of her mattress, every gust of wind, every scuffle of passing feet outside her door. She could practically hear her hands screaming, fingers begging and itching to just take it off, pleading to expose her to that brilliantly white room again. But she couldn't, she wouldn't.

She'd promised him, after all.

Another hour passed by slowly, and cramps started to tug at her body. She wanted to move, to stretch, to do something, but she rested still and silent. Movement meant noise, and every little noise felt like a banshee shrieking in her ear.

Every little noise except the slight, sparse creak of her door opening. She glanced up (or at least she tried), and leaned forward a bit. The bedsprings squealed and she winced, though it was followed by the soothing sound of the door gliding into its jambs.

"Have you taken it off?" came a voice. Her head spun to meet it, to make a semblance of vision. It was deep, dark, but there was something else beneath it all. Some tone of... unusual righteousness. It was Tousen.

"No," Orihime replied, curious at the sound of her own voice.

He said nothing, and silence resumed. Or she wished it had, but it was not so, for his feet scratched the marble floor, and his robe billowed ever so slightly, and her sheets rumpled noisily as she shifted in her nervousness. But suddenly, all the ruckus - aside from her fidgeting - stopped directly in front of her. Out of instinct, she raised her head to look at him, and felt like smacking herself.

"Can you see me?" he asked. "Can you see light?"

She shook her head, but despite the sound of her hair swishing to and fro, she still wasn't sure she had moved at all. "No," she told him just to be sure.

She nearly screamed when she felt a warmth against her cheek, slight and gentle - the palm of his hand. Her heartbeat - so loud, so very loud! - settled as his fingers slid along her jaw, resting beneath her chin and tipping it up.

"Stand," Tousen commanded, releasing his delicate, yet firm, grip.

Orihime swallowed a lump in her throat and did as he commanded. He wasn't lascivious like Gin or manipulative like Aizen, but Tousen exuded an air that demanded obedience. It wasn't because he openly called for it, and more so that it just felt like the right thing to do. She couldn't explain why, but something about Tousen made one want to follow him. Something intangible, inexplicable, and completely untouchable.

Her thoughts, so thinly tied together, unraveled as the whisperings of his sandals echoed in her ears. She tried to stop herself from cringing, but she couldn't help it; she was so painstakingly aware of everything going on around her: every noise, every touch, every scent. When his hands glided over her throat, she could feel every ridge and every fingerprint. When his even breath shifted into a lengthy exhale, she could hear the oxygen exiting his mouth, throat, lungs. When he circled her, as he was currently doing, she could smell his aroma, every wisp of soap, every tinge of that genuine masculine scent.

But she couldn't see. She knew where everything was, and yet she couldn't see something right in front of her. The notion was driving her mad behind that blasted blindfold, until every sensation made her ill. She didn't want any senses if she couldn't have them all!

"It makes you greedy, doesn't it?" his tone interrupted, smooth velvet in a world of grating cobblestone.

Orihime gulped, and the action caught as much in her ears as in her throat. "Yes."

A sudden flush of warmth and his breath was hot on her neck, lips brushing tenderly over the beat of her pulse. "It makes you want what you cannot have."

She wanted to rip it off. She wanted to scream and cry and rip the damn thing off. This was torture! This was pain and agony and... silence. Orihime's senses suddenly stopped, and the world seemed devoid of anything. There were no sounds - no rustling sand, no heavy heartbeat. There was no touch, no taste, no smell. There was absolute nothingness. For a moment, Orihime wondered if she still existed.

And then there was touch. Lips grazing over hers, pressing and pushing and claiming with calculated gentleness. She couldn't hear him, couldn't see him, but she knew who he was. She wanted to reach out and touch him, but she simply couldn't. She wasn't sure why, but it just wasn't right.

Touch continued creeping back into her mind as his hand traveled up her waist. It slid just under her breast, cupping the tender flesh. Her breath caught in her throat, though she couldn't hear it. All she knew was touch, his touch.

He stepped forward, and instinctively she moved back. Her knees hit the bed and she didn't protest as he lay her down. She felt the mattress lower as his body climbed over hers, his lips caressing and suckling at her throat.

And then there was sound. She heard a moan, so distant yet so close. So hungry, so desperate, and so innocent. Orihime knew without question that it was her who had emitted it, but she didn't mind. It seemed like the right thing to do, especially when she felt so wonderful.

Her shirt swished quietly as it pulled past her ears, whistling as it flew to the floor. His robe, quiet but noticeable, soon followed. Minutes hadn't passed before they were both nude, clothes lying on the floor in a silent heap. Her bed didn't shriek anymore, and the wind wasn't even a whisper. All that filled the room were moans and breathing, accompanied by the sound of kissing and flesh gliding softly over flesh.

She whimpered as he entered her, though she was wet and prepared. His lips were over her own again, and the sensations were incredible. Orihime wrapped her arms around his neck, unsure of where else to put them, as Tousen's experienced hands pleasured her breasts. He kissed lower, lower, tongue darting into the dip of her collarbone. She sighed and whimpered, biting her lip at all the new, fantastic sensations.

And then there was scent. All at once, she noticed it. The aroma of sweat, of skin against skin, of sex. It was all around her, coating her, splendidly smothering her. It clashed delightfully with the scent of fresh linen sheets, as they too became drenched. She could smell herself, her arousal, and the delicious mixture of tea and cinnamon that was his breath. She breathed it in, she relished it, she reveled in it. They were scents she'd usually abhor, she'd usually loathe, but here, now, they belonged. They were everything she wanted, everything beautiful, everything right.

It was too much. It was everything, all at once. She barely noticed when his movements hastened, too enraptured in her senses. The feeling, the scent, the sound... it was intoxicating, it was orgasmic.

Orihime was lost in her own voice as she cried out, arching her back as she felt him come inside her. Tousen withdrew and lay down, granting her a final kiss as she felt the bed sink beside her. The covers hugged her body and she felt glorious, even after Tousen draped an arm around her and pulled her closer to his form.

She could hear his breathing steady, and soon he was asleep. Orihime smiled, for she too was exhausted. She pressed her back to his chest, prepared to drift into slumber, when she remembered... Raising a hand to her temples, Orihime slipped her fingers beneath the strip of cloth and lifted it over her head, mussing her hair. Opening her eyes, she squinted into the brilliance of the ivory room, and her senses screamed.

She was in Hueco Mundo, where white assaulted the eyes of its inhabitants. She felt sore and itchy lying on her sheets. She felt sticky and disgusting, drenched in God knew what. Sweat clogged her nostrils, along with the stench of sex. She could hear the world outside her window, Hollows crying out in the eternal night. But, worst of all, she could see the arm slung around her waist, so dark and contrasting to her own skin - so alien.

And suddenly, nothing felt right.