A/N: Ichigo Kurosaki and Orihime Inoue are rival actors working on a film under the supervision of Tite Kubo. I think I'm possibly the first person to link Kubo-san into a Bleach fanfic, if not then good on whomever else thought of it, he deserves more credit on this site. If I am the first, then WOOP ^^ People may complain that it takes too long to get into, and if you think that, then please bear in mind the average number of pages for a real book is often between 20-40. This was 15 pages. I worked my ass off. So, reviews appreciated, but no complaining that it takes too long to get into, because it took a lot of effort to do.
Anata is the phrase used by women to address their husbands; Kimi is husbands to wives, usually taken in the offensive way. Asami means morning beauty; Hitomi means pupil of the eye; Akihiko means shining prince; Katsuo means victorious child; Hikaru is a little tribute to Utada Hikaru, people may know her from Kingdom Hearts. Hikaru means radiance, light, etc.
Sakura Climax:
さくら爆弾はクロウタドリ赤に染色
Sakura bakudan wa kurōtadori aka ni senshoku
"Sakura Bombs stained the blackbirds red"
Tite Kubo, Japan's top director and script-writer, stood central in the studio for his upcoming movie, Sakura Climax. The 35 year old shielded his deep brown eyes from the naked eye with his honey highlighted bangs sweeping across his face, and his signature blacked-out sunglasses, donning a headset over his head, typical to a man in his position; his muscled torso was barely concealed by the black polo shirt clinging to his tanned skin, baggy jeans trailing down to the floor, just hiding his black Converse, as he stood in a casual pose, his feet pointing away from the other, his body slouched, his arms crossed as he began introducing the two actors before him.
"Inoue-san, this is Kurosaki-san. Kurosaki, Inoue."
Orihime Inoue stood in her typical blasé manner, clad in her World War II attire, secretly loving the costumes picked out for her, as she had to admit to herself that half of her wardrobe was entirely similar to the outfits her new alias wore. The young actress extended her hand to shake his, forming a civil attitude towards her new colleague, hoping to form some sort of a friendship with him to make the scenes much less awkward. She knew much about Ichigo Kurosaki, a diva and a half when it came to getting his own way in the film industry, as the 23 year old glared at her, as if to broadcast his hatred in a silent manner; he sniffed, shrugging his shoulders at her feebly casual approach, turning his body towards the Director in an attempt to block the child out before him.
"Couldn't you have got someone a little older to play the part? I feel uncomfortable doing it with a kid." He jerked his head in her direction in an arrogant manner, as if looking at her poisoned his eyes. Orihime gasped, pouting her lips as she scowled, crossing her arms over her chest in a distempered manner. "See? She even throws fits like a child,"
"Kurosaki-san, I am not a child. I'm 18, and I'm a fully capable actress. Act professional, and act your age!" He shifted his gaze back to her, as the callous venom burned a strident flame within the liquid pools, his signature spiked hair the same shade as a thousand flames coursing through his hollow, brainless skull. "And furthermore, don't question Kubo-san's decision; don't dictate to him who he hires, it isn't your place." He rolled his eyes, crossing his arms as he did so, his tall frame casting shadows over the petite woman stood parallel to him.
"Whatever, can we just get this shit over with?" Kubo nodded, listening intently to voices echoing down his headset, holding the mic close to his lips as he muttered a reply; he raised his head, addressing the quarrelling actors before him, scowling as he held his hands up to break them apart.
"Have you both read the script?" Orihime shifted her gaze away from her new nemesis, having heard countless insults escape his dumbass lips, flicking her curled hair in an infuriated manner; her ire clashed with her deep red lips and auburn hair, which flickered a mass of colours, each new strand a new shade of copper, gold and bronze, glimmering under the bright studio lights.
"Yes, Kubo-san."
"No shit, how else would I know my lines?" Her eyes narrowed at his spiteful attitude, mentally finding herself slap him across the face, teaching him some basic manners, knowing in her mind that it was going to require some pretty damn good acting skills to portray her non-existent love for this man on-screen.
"Right then, remember that this scene of the movie is all about the passion, the lust, the desperation. Kurosaki, you play a soldier who's just come back from a long war, Inoue, you're his wife. It's been 6 years since you last saw each other, Inoue, you have no clue if he's alive or not, so when you see him, you panic. I want tears, can you do that?" She nodded, beaming a grin as her eyes curved up into soft arrow shapes, optimistic for the imminent events. "Kurosaki, you haven't touched a woman for 6 years, so it has to start off desperate, rushed, clumsy. As time goes by, you both start to feel a sense of comfort, have you got that?"
Both actors nodded in reply, as Orihime bounced on her spot, preparing herself mentally for the upcoming scene. She closed her eyes, taking her place on the set, as she dissolved into the atmosphere of her character, leaking the thoughts and emotions into hers, as though they were her own. She felt Kurosaki's presence disappear from off-set, slouching against his seat as he sparked a cigarette, taking a drag before blowing the billowing smoke from parted lips, watching her as he bore a grin across his smug, yet strangely handsome face. She shook her head, reciting her lines in her head, before having her mental train interrupted by the Director once more, who stood behind the cameras panning onto her, a faint trace of nerves rising in her system as if the lenses were that of a sniper rifle.
"Are you ready, Inoue?" She nodded, forming a salute before shattering the final remnants of her true personality, absorbing the character's soul into hers instantly, as she took her place at the kitchen window, facing the camera pointing at her from behind the rows of flowerpots. "3... 2... 1... Action!" She blinked once, stepping into a portal before her, as she entered a new world, her body as lightweight as a thousand bubbles supporting her in the floating air.
I am... Asami Hikaru...
She opened her eyes to visualize her new surroundings, absorbing her ambience as her mind pinpointed her location. It was September 1945, and the thrills of winter stood at the doorsteps of many, golden leaves showering the shattered streets of Karakura, falling from the Heavens, each blossom unique, like earthly snowflakes. Angels blessed her home, an isolated island just north of the vile conflict, heralding the skies over the beautiful cottage desolate from warfare, surrounded by a garden that stretched for miles, the entire plot of land hers and her families alone. The immeasurable fields were coloured with a variety of dazzling shades, creating a blooming atmosphere of love and joy, as the delicate sound of water trickling resounded from the distant well and shimmering ponds scattered across the vast gardens, each droplet shining like a cluster of crystals under Mother Nature's cherishing spotlight.
Outside, the sun rose gently against the cyan sky, the morning light a blissful shade of amber, leaking through the kitchen window, flitting onto the pale blue tiled flooring, bringing hope with the new gleams of weather. Microscopic particles of light shone through the high tips of the trees, bluebirds and nightingales sung their loveable lyrics as they flew sophisticatedly through their elements, as if nature was depicting an omen of the positive events to follow later that day.
Asami Hikaru stood in a daydream, her serene eyes studying the outdoor environments bursting into life, secretly proud of the garden scenery laid out before her. She was a young mother, a mere 25 years old, as she watched her children chase fluttering butterflies across the dew-dropped blades of grass, filling the air with their laughter and giggles, portraying the beauty of their youth; she was a beautiful woman, her appearance alone capable of forcing the most dead, wilted flowers into a vivacious bloom, her kind soul bringing life to the most dismal regions of Japan, as scarlet roses stretched eagerly from the ground, the purest of white lilies racing alongside them; despite the dreadful war veiling the world in a toxic storm-cloud, all blooms in her garden stood eager to feel the warm touch of the glorious sunlight, which lay on its blue cloudless canvas, scattering its golden rays across her home island.
Her body relaxed in her kitchen, catching a glimpse of her reflection in the glass pane, smiling at the beauteous reflection before her. Not to sound arrogant, but she knew she was beautiful, and she knew her family was just as beautiful; she stood with the finest auburn cascades angels could offer, as the delicate strands framed her defined jawline perfectly, flamed tufts clashing with her cream skin. Her doe gaze was deep-set, glimmering a number of different shades of gray and silver, as her cheeks adorned warm blushes; her slim figure caused many women to gripe with envy, as her large breasts bulged from her chest, a simple side-effect from her pregnancy 6 years ago, and nothing more. She stood in fine feather, her clothes radiant under the autumn light, as she wore a knee-length white skirt, printed with delicate blue flowers, and a matching blue sleeveless blouse, hugging her chest tightly, her slender legs finished with a pair of nude tights and low white heels.
Over her attire, she wore a flour-stained apron, as she kneaded the dough with her dainty hands, humming blithely along with the peaceful chirps of the morning songbirds resounding from the open window. She glimpsed up at her children, who sat sprawled across the grass, clearly out of breath from their game of tag, sending them an affectionate smile as they waved and grinned in sync. The twins were fraternal, ironically identical in appearance, the main features that differed being their eye shape, size and colour.
The girl had been named Hitomi, simply because of her large pupils inherited by her mother, bringing a new-found love, drawing a mother and her first-born together in a united embrace; the irises shimmered with her father's deep chocolate glaze, bordered with thick black eyelashes. Her auburn hair fell in soft ringlets around her ears, as her bangs swept across her forehead in a full fringe, au naturel waves cascading down to the small of her back; she was often the quieter out of the two, her pouted lips beautifully soft, the rose tint the same shade as the blushes that flared in her warm cheeks. Her midnight blue dress fell to her knees, decorated with a scattered cluster of white polka-dots, her white cardigan cloaking her shoulders, as long white socks travelled up to her mid-calf; her attire was grazed with moss green grass stains, a trace of sorrow glistening in her large eyes. Asami rolled her eyes, tutting, smiling wider as if to console her daughter.
Akihiko, on the other hand, was a charming young boy, the pure duplicate of his father from his youth, his rounded silver eyes inherited from his mother aside; his fiery spiked hair clashed with his lively nature, his occasional tantrum forcing Asami to smile blissfully, knowing in her heart exactly where his rebel nature had stemmed from: her dear husband, Katsuo Hikaru. Mud adorned his dimpled cheeks as he grinned, clad in a white dress shirt, knee-length gray trousers supported with brown pin-striped suspenders, and white socks cutting across the centre of his calves, similarly to his sister's. She didn't mind her children getting their clothes messy, as she knew at the end of the day they'd have to be cleaned regardless, so she'd rather they had fun in their lives whilst they had the chance. She'd feel as if she'd failed them as a mother if she was there to stop them having fun for every second of every day of their childhood.
Had she and her family lived in the city, she knew in her heart she wouldn't get a moments rest from living in fear of the incoming bombs ricocheting across the overcrowded streets; as she and her husband had moved to the quiet countryside many years before the war, she felt partially at ease: she and her children were as safe as they could be, but one lone thought haunted her conscience, the fact that her beloved was away at war. When he'd left, he'd promised to send her letters every week, and to call her every day, so that she knew he was safe, and vice versa. Overtime, his promises deteriorated, as did his calls and letters, upon which she could only pray for his safety, having had little knowledge of his whereabouts. Having lost her brother, the man who cared for her in her youth, having lost him to the war, she simply couldn't forgive herself if she ever lost the man of her dreams too.
She sighed, biting her lip as her mind became carried away with the grim thoughts of her dear husband's potential demise, discarding them to the very back of her mind. He was always the one to make stupid promises, but in the end, he'd always stuck to them regardless of how ludicrous they were. Before he'd left, he had promised to win the war, especially for her, and he'd promised that if they had lost, then he wouldn't ever return, as then he wouldn't be the man she'd fallen in love with. She wasn't particularly keen on the latter, as she had promised in the presence of God to love him for eternity, to stay by his side through thick and thin. He promised either way that he'd leave the battlefield in one piece, conscious, alive, and in full health, so that she wouldn't have to worry about his safety, even if he didn't return; regardless, her mind still held irrefutable doubts. The rumours spread across the nation like a tenacious wildfire, vicious rumours of how Japan wasn't doing so well, as word of a surrender spread across the country.
The whole concept of war was simply ridiculous, and so she didn't for one second regret keeping her children in the dark about their father's absence. Not a single word of war entered her dear children's' ears, nor was the word itself uttered remotely in the household. She may have been Japanese and proud, but this sick, sadistic war was simply out of control, and she stood neutral in the battlefield, a small fragment of her mind loathing her country for their twisted sense of justice, another fraction her husband for his betrayal. She would constantly remind herself that he had no choice in the matter, and that the decision to head off to war wasn't his, hell, he wasn't even a soldier; he was a decent man, a doctor, a man who saved lives, not take them away from the so-called enemies.
Honestly, did the government not understand that the British had families too? Regardless of who started the war, and when, the thought of world peace sunk deeper into her mind, burying to the depths of impossibility, as she saw the childishness of the world's governments. Her own children were far more mature than these world leaders, mere 6 year olds beating each and every one of these grown adults on intelligence scales.
Besides, wasn't each country fighting for the same reason? For self-preservation? For so-called honour? For the reputation of their mother-land? Each army, the Nazis, the Communists, the British, the Japanese, the Americans, each and every one of them held the same goal, the same morals, all that stood different was the colour of their skin, and the design of their flag. All nations, citizens and armies stood as mindless puppets under the control of the world leaders; all soldiers had families that they could never return to, and held lives that could never be the same again.
She frowned at the hypocrites, shaking her head as she concentrated her focus on the thin dough now rolled out and ready to be cut. She searched through her drawers for a cookie cutter, filling the air as she hummed a nursery rhyme flawlessly in a sweet, soothing tone, blissfully unaware of her visitor lurking at her door-step.
Through the walls, he could hear her saccharine voice alluring him into a deep trance, the same voice which was once amplified by the winged messengers visiting him each day in the trenches, fuelling him the de rigueur strength to fight another day. He was once a soldier imprisoned on the battlefield, despite his insisting that he was a pacifist, a conscientious objector, locked away for life in the blistering deserts of death; the scolding heat shrouding No Man's Land inflicted pain unimaginable to man, as lethal viruses spread across the trenches, barbed wire slitting deep into limbs, as the thorns ensnared the burning flesh of the weaker subordinates.
The iniquity, the sins shrouding the world in the form of thick black mists ricocheted pain across the globe, wiping out the dissolute followers of God, showing no mercy on the commiserable mortals. The years were no doubt the bloodiest years Japan had seen, as a storm-cloud spread fear and anguish across the planet, annihilating any traces of goodwill from recognition. Viruses descended from the deepest pits of Hell, as God merely watched, judging his prisoners in their earthly cages. The ash and embers lambent in the darkness, igniting the blackouts with its quivering light source, as bomb after bomb, bullet after bullet, cracked through skulls, skeletons, consuming life in an abysmal avarice of hatred.
The horrors of war had buried deep into his mind, as the bloodlust crept over him with each lonely second spent blanketed by the savage environments; he hadn't started off as a soldier, he was a mere child, his recent years being brought up in the midst of violence, anarchy and bloodlust brainwashed into their minds; each day upon returning to the haven of his trench, he'd lift the visor of his gas mask, and smear the blood of the enemies across his brutal lips, adorning his pallid cheeks as though it was his camouflage, pure infernos blazing within his liquid gaze.
Over the past 6 years, he had become certain that had he not had a home, a wife, and two beautiful children to return to, he would never in a million years be stood here on his doorstep, free from the horrors of war, liberty his to grasp with eager hands. He was no longer the brutal warrior he had been turned into, he knew that in his mind, but his hands already began to crave the cold callous metal touch of his gun lost from his palms. His hands had grown up cradling the guns in his killer embrace, shattering the lives of the innocent with the bullet projectiles streaming through the air, with a loathfully ironic sense of grace.
Gas canisters would erupt, spitting fire, as did his heart, burst in despair countless times upon visualizing his dear wife and children shedding tears over his demise, as he glimpsed into the eyes of the British; his sanity fractured into minute shards, his mentality askew with a new sense of honour clouding over him, as though able to enter their minds with a mere glance into their soul-less, hollow eyes. Thousands of lifetimes, thousands of men; but what was achieved, but bloodshed again... And again?
He could hear her singing, his guardian, his wife, his dear Asami, visualizing her halo form around her glossy hair, as the amber sunlight leaked in through the window, casting rays of seraphic light to protrude from the shy goddess standing before him, as though emphasizing her immortal beauty, her radiant elegance forever frozen in time. Invisible wings fluttered down her back, each inch of her flesh gleaming with perfection, closing his eyes against the sheer proximity of the restful spirit, warming him with her soothing songs. He stood glued to his spot, his muscular biceps flexing as he gripped on tight to his bag filled with his old change of clothes, his mind contemplating on whether or not he should knock. He didn't even want to be here, he knew he wouldn't be welcome, he knew she wouldn't love him for the monster he'd become. The callous environment of war had fed him nothing but violence and murder for 6 years, brainwashing him into this bloodthirsty warrior. What made him a good man? A good husband? A good father? Even his appearance had been altered, as the once lanky man now stood tall and broad, as his barbaric muscles threatened to tear through his shirt each time he breathed.
No matter what he did, he'd be breaking a promise. Japan had lost the war, and he'd vowed to his chaste wife that he wouldn't return, had that happened. Yet still, here he stood; something led him home, as he wandered the war-torn streets of Japan, the damage inflicted on his countrymen enough to send him crazy; the paranoid whispers echoed around the destroyed streets, as his name turned into hollow screams, begging for mercy, shattering his conscious into a million fractured shards, slitting deep into his wounded flesh. Were his efforts, his murders; was his brainwashing really for nothing? Some beacon of light guided him through the dark streets, as the mists clouded his vision, rendering him blind under the Heavens, steering the ex-soldier home to his wife and children long awaiting his return.
He gulped, swallowing his fears as his throat shifted under the new pressure. His appearance had changed too much, so how could he be so certain that she'd still remember who he was? How could he be so sure that she'd still love him for the man he'd become in his absence? He held his breath, raising his free hand, clenching his fist to knock against the coffee painted door, startling himself as his knuckle collided with nothing but air, shifting his gaze upwards as he heard the click of the handle open a split second before he could knock; he cursed himself as he saw his wife's wild eyes distraught and pained from his appearance, catching only a mere glimpse of her visage before she slammed the door shut in his face.
Asami slouched against the front door, glancing up towards the grandfather clock positioned in the corner parallel to her, counting the seconds, taking heavy, erratic breaths as she sunk into the wooden barricade behind her. Her heart almost jumped from her skin as she felt the faint vibrate ricochet throughout the wooden grains, as her long lost husband began to knock desperately. She held her breath in her constricted lungs, flushing as she felt the knocks decelerate, her heart overwhelming with a strident guilt. Her sobs echoed through the shield wall, as he pressed his forehead against it, sighing as though unable to hold up his determination, through fear of harming or intimidating his dear love.
"Asami, please... It's Katsuo..."
I know...
She held her breath at his words, rising her head a few inches, meeting the heartfelt gaze of the affectionate man through the distorted glass; her face lingered in the patterned glass, as the anguish leaked from her expressions, flowing straight into his mind, and nowhere else. Her trembling hand pressed against the glass, as his eyes took note of her features, the absence of her wedding ring attracting his attention the most. Her features hadn't once changed over the past 6 years, her eyes gleaming with youth just as they had all those years ago when they had first met; the cupid's bow of her lips linked together in an unbearably seductive curve, causing him to groan mentally, sinking his hand against hers as though reforming their bond once more. The sincerity in his gaze seemed all too real, as her daze clouded over with an undeniable trace of lust.
"Open the door, Asami,"
She flushed, shaking herself out of her daydream as she unlocked the door, closing it behind her with a click shattering through the silent air. She stood inches before him, unable to breathe in awe of his presence; her body began to move of its own accord, as she became unable to restrain her indomitable hands from cupping his face, her fingertips relishing in the feel of the auburn silked spikes scattered across his temple, cutting past his ears in an eager spread. His defined jawline seemed all the more distinct than she last remembered, as she melted against his chest, constructed from warm and throbbing muscle. His eyebrows furrowed into a perplexed state, as the chocolate gaze clouded with a drizzled honey effect, rendering his masculine charm, the same as she had fallen in love with, all those years ago; a thousand sakura blossoms swirled around them in the form of an elemental whirlpool, as she stole a glimpse into his mind, knowing in hers exactly what he wanted her to do.
"Anata... Katsuo... You're back?" Tears rose in her system, stinging her eyes with the cyanidic liquid, as she slammed her lids shut, sobbing under the stone chokehold rising in her hoarse throat. "You're home, Katsuo..."
"Kimi..." He tutted softly, dropping his bag to the ground, wrapping his arms around his wife in a protective embrace; he sent chills down her spine as he breathed warm air against her pulsating temple, burying himself in the deep scent of a thousand sakura blossoms, arising from her hair. His husky voice was stronger in comparison to the man he once was, and she was certain he seemed a lot more arrogant than before, as though his mind was making up for the fruitless honour lost on the battlefield.
"Katsuo, I've told you before, don't call me Kimi, it's demeaning." He smirked at her stubborn nature, consoling himself in the new-found knowledge that his wife hadn't once changed over the past decade. "Katsuo... I... I love you, don't ever leave me again, promise me!" His gaze swept over with a thick tint of his gentle nature, taking his wife into a deeper embrace, nuzzling the tender contours of his dear wife's neck with his passionate kisses.
"I can't promise anything, Asami. Not to you, or to the kids. I love you all, and that's the only thing I can say for sure. Anything else, I'll only break if I promise," She sobbed against his chest, watching the droplets be absorbed by the stretched white cotton of his shirt, whimpering under the pain of a thousand knives plunging straight into her barely beating heart.
"Katsuo, don't speak like that. I know you, you can promise anything, and deliver it in time. The kids have their lives again, now that you're back." She lifted her head to meet his gaze, gazing into the deep pools of lust, certain her vision was clouded by her stained tears. "I have my life back. We all do. The war's over, and I don't care whether we won or lost. My husband is home, and he's alive, and that's all that matters. Please, you don't need to fall any further into darkness than you already have done; you have your family to love you."
"I don't deserve your love, Asami. Look at these hands, they're the hands of a murderer, they've slaughtered people. Why is it you can't understand that?" He spat the venomous words, penetrating deep into her heart as he held his clenched hands out for her to see. She held back her sobs, standing on her tip-toes to match his staggering height, as her hand slid down his neck, relishing in the touch of the warm muscle beneath her fingertips. Her lips quivered as she swallowed her doubts, tracing them against his cheek, startling him down to his very heart.
He shook his head, pressing his forehead against hers, shadowing her face with a thousand vines of malice, as though wishing to scare her, to do anything to get her to see the real him. His hands ran over her hips, absorbing her attire as he held her firmly against his body, feeling selfish for keeping her to himself over the past 6 years. Even now, he wanted her so badly, he didn't want to let another man lay eyes on her for a mere second, yet he knew in his heart he didn't deserve to claim the pure, virtuous soul, or to even call her his. His eyes took note of her cream coat covering her body, raising his eyebrows as if to question her attire. She breathed silently, as though ashamed of her sudden actions.
"I... I was going to go to the shops,"
"Is it urgent?"
"N-Not exactly,"
He startled her by capturing her breath in a silk-smooth kiss, brushing his thumbs across her shoulders buried deep under her clothes, drifting his tongue against the curves of her lips, moaning softly as she refused entrance; he parted their bond, closing his eyes as he breathed below her ear, nibbling the lobe softly, sending jolts of pleasure through her system.
"Where are the twins?" His words sounded directly down her ear, forcing her to flinch, her dazed state numbing her mind as she became lost in the reverie thought of his implications.
"They've gone out to play with their friends," She bit her lip, cursing herself mentally for giving him the answer his inner deviant craved.
"So we have the house to ourselves? For how long?"
"I told them to be home for dinner at 6," He lifted his gaze, sweeping his intricately laced eyes across her clouded face, blushes blazing under her skin like a chaotic flame. "Katsu- oh!" He swept his arms under her legs, buckling her knees into his embrace, holding her bridal style as his passionate gaze drifted deep into his wife's, shadowing a lifetime of pain in a mere glimpse of his deep chocolate eyes.
"Katsuo, don't be silly, let me go," He bit his lip, remaining silent as he tightened his grip around her derriere with one hand, clutching his other palm around the handle, stepping into the house with a swift stride, letting the door slam shut, locking it instantly so that he could return his hand to support his wife's body against his. She peered up at her husband, sensing something off about the man embracing her, knowing in her heart that he had changed somewhat since she'd met him. His morals were still the same, his priorities and aspirations in life, but the young princely child was now lost in the ravenous depths of this callous man, unable to, unwilling to, reflect any emotion from his core but hatred, vengeance, envy and lust.
He held his head low, breathing heavily through shame, burying his gaze deep under the thick strands of his spiked bangs, his complexion stained with a thousand blushes blazing in his cheeks. It had been a long time since he'd stepped foot in his house, as he glanced around, attempting to navigate his way towards the hearth of the warm cottage, the comforting room he remembered to be reliable and permanent whenever he wanted his pain to be consoled by the dear goddess he loved.
She breathed softly, craving his passionate nature to come out for the first time in 6 years, flickering her eyes shut as if to concentrate on the rhythmic beating of his heart, buried deep under his muscular flesh, resounding through her ears. His sore lips couldn't offer a single word of thanks or acknowledgment, as he merely edged forward towards the staircase, taking each step one at a time as he clambered the beautifully carpeted stairs at a leisurely pace, through fear he might trip and damage his goddess.
Upon reaching the top of the stairs, he turned swiftly to the first door on the right, his breaths overpowering hers, as a thick shadow clouded over the serene hallway, beckoning the lustrous events to arise earlier than had been planned. He entered their room, surprisingly warm as the new atmosphere blasted him in the face, as the enticing breeze swept from the open window, positioned on the wall parallel to where they stood, billowing the short cream curtains, which were laced intricately with a gold crosshatching effect. The walls were papered with a beautiful vanilla white shade, as golden vines bloomed into flowers in each corner of the four walls, the cherry brown wooden floor pined and varnished to perfection, covered with a cream rug stretching under the bed.
Everything had been kept so beautiful, preserved to perfection as Asami wanted every tiny scrap or memory of her husband to stay alive, regardless of how long he may have been absent. He blanked their surroundings, carrying her in an amorous embrace, his rugged arms cradling her in a clouded mist of passion. For a split second, she glanced up into his eyes, feeling the cool material of her silked bed sheets beneath her, swearing on her soul that she saw a glimpse of love, something real, something sincere, something impossible to feign even by under the greatest masquerade, as she allowed her body to relax, her trembling hands guiding her husband onto the bed with her.
"Katsuo~" Her saccharine voice sung heavenly, as she tilted her head back, beckoning his lips forth towards her pulsing neck, her breaths soft, her moans forming gracefully, as they escaped her pouted lips. "I missed you," The words struck his heart like a violent bolt ricocheting from a tempest sky, his hands trembling as he lifted his head, gazing softly into her eyes, glimpsing into the silver liquid pools of lust adorning her irises, smiling at the delicate blushes rising in her cheeks. "I love you," He gulped away his conscience, as she studied his expressions clouding his masqued face, as though the three simple words were lethal pellets lodged in his throat, causing a spluttered man to swallow his love. He felt his body melt away under the winged grace leaking from the angel before him; the curved shape of her deep-set eyes reflected her innocent traits, as her eyebrows creased, bewildered to her core as she watched the scarred man stutter his replies.
"I love you too," Her naïvety spread like a wildfire, igniting the bedroom into a bed of strident flames, dazed out of her mind to understand his reluctance to admit his emotions. He couldn't help his eyes trace over her figure, his hands eliminating the coat blocking his path, following suite after, noting the smooth contours of her body standing out clear for him to see, as the curves became amplified under the thin royal blue fabric of her blouse; his eyes sketched past the delicate curves of her neck, relishing in the ambrosial fragrance arousing from her porcelain skin, cupping her ample breasts in a soft embrace. Her Everest chest was larger than any he had ever seen, not that he'd ever contemplated the desire of looking at any other's than hers, as he felt her pulse increase upon contact of his massaging fingertips stroking the apex beneath the flimsy material.
She closed her eyes, holding back each moan that threatened to rise in her hoarse throat, her heart beating faster to fill her lungs with the de rigueur Oxygen escaping her system; her breaths became heavy with each delicate stroke, unable to hold back her whimpers as his hands began to undo the stream of buttons meandering down her front, taking his time at each milestone, going tantalizingly slow as if to torture her all the more. Her hands clutched hold of the sheets beneath her, chanting her husband's name in a blissfully ignorant trance, blushing as the liquid heat rose in the pit of her stomach.
His face lingered inches away from hers, as his cocoa gaze swept across hers, the honey glaze burning stronger as though penetrating her soul in an affectionate daze. She tilted her head to the side, as her petalled lips quivered against his, capturing his sanity, which shattered into sharp shards of glass, scattering over them like blossoms blanketing the ground with cherry pink petals. Her mind turned blank, as though all of her thoughts became lost in a hypnotic daze, captivated by this man's flawless charm. His face edged all the more closer to hers, as his warm breath trailed down her neck, shooting jolts of pleasure to surge through her body.
Skin pressed against his cheeks, an odd mixture of both warmth and ice, casting blushes across his tanned face; her skin was as smooth as silk, as light as a feather, as electric sparks shattered through his veins at an alarming rate, her body beginning to tremble under the shock of the events before her, her core temperature rising like a flare emitted into the silent atmosphere; the heat of a thousand bonfires engulfed their mouths in a slick form, as fireworks shattered the peaceful ambience, burning bright in the desolate sky, their lips colliding with the same heat as a thousand meteors showering over them intimately.
He held her chin between his thumb and forefinger, tilting her head closer towards his as he stole her heart with a mere touch. Her wild eyes were buried under her rose dusted lids, the contact of his flesh against hers alluring her to her very core, as he captured her soul in a breath-taking kiss; her heart stalled in her constricted chest, as she blushed against him, parting her lips to find his tongue sweep in within an instant, the satin flesh exploring the deep caverns of her mouth desperately, as though certain he'd never get the opportunity ever again. His tongue danced with hers, battling for control of the kiss, as his hands trailed down towards her chest, tearing her shirt open to view her torso to the full extent, exposing the flat plane of her stomach beckoning him towards her ornately designed skirt.
He slowly ran his forefinger down the exposed flesh, circling her navel in a torturous manner, journeying around the contoured regions of her nape, down towards the cascades of her mountainous breasts, burying under the hem of her navy blue skirt, each new pressure striking lightning-level volts against her bare skin. Despite holding his eyes shut whilst kissing her, his hands found every weak point her body could sexually offer, as she fell into a deep state of ecstasy, releasing her build-up of moans threatening to dominate her body, had she not let them escape.
His lips were the softest she had ever known, pouting with disbelief as he parted the kiss, his lips locking onto his new target, grazing his teeth against her neck and sternum; the valley between her breasts made a good hiding place for his tongue, as he brushed the pulsing flesh, gripping hold of her dusty rose bra in a tight grasp, tugging against it to spill her breasts into view, holding his eyes on hers as though treasuring the goddess. He tugged off her blouse, coiling his hands around her back for the clip, finding it with ease. With a simple flick of his wrist, the click resounded throughout the air, forcing groans to escape her lips, unable to hold her obvious indulgence.
Each word planned out to utter disintegrated into a soft moan, squirming under his warm touch, as her core spiked in temperature, turning sensitive and moist, much to her dismay. A hand rose up the insides of her thigh, spreading flames along every inch of flesh he touched, igniting the moaned droplets to ricochet throughout his mind. Her ecstatic state was clearly a sign of enjoyment, as he ran his palms under her raised skirt, not once allowing his body to hesitate as he came closer to her liquid hearth. She parted her thighs further astride his legs, as he crossed her underwear, lightly massaging his fingers across the creases, finding her apex within an instant, as it bulged faintly from her core, beckoning him to come forward and taste her. He took her apex between two fingertips, tweaking it, brushing it, twisting it, performing any motion to draw out her intense cries of pleasure.
The liquid heat pooled more across the pit of her stomach, as she felt a sudden proximity shatter her personal space, the mint aroma of her lover pleasing her numb senses; she felt a cool fabric slowly slide down over the contours of her thighs, blushing as the cold air hit her nerves, forcing a pouted moan to escape into the atmosphere. His cheeks brushed her thighs, parting then further to earn better access, as she stuttered a shy reply, her words incoherent and jumbled through slick pants, which overpowered her logical thought-train.
He chuckled faintly under his breath, brushing his forehead against her pelvis mound, capturing her core in a mind-numbing kiss, relishing in the faintest traces of honeysuckle lingering within the warm hearth. He performed a simple test run, flicking his tongue out against her lower apex, smirking as her cries shattered through the air. Her raspy breaths echoed throughout the room, as she lifted her head by an inch, savouring in the feel of his warm, husky breath against her core, moaning upon sight of his buoyant head beneath her skirt, rippling the fabric in faint waves.
The flames coursing through her veins was enough to ignite her body into a bed of dynamic embers, fuelling her desire with the pure energy spiking within her heart; her body convulsed, waves of pleasure gushing over her, each drop as real and refreshing as a splash from the soothing ocean. This was a form of pleasure she'd imagined to be long since lost, alongside her husband, as she'd sworn on her life that in the scenario in which her beloved passed away, she wouldn't allow herself to fall for any other man. The shock of the pleasure triggered doubts in her mind, as she obscured her reality checks, pinching the skin of her thigh to reassure herself, praying to God that she wasn't dreaming. The sequence was too vivid, her vision too clear, both the pain and pleasure too real for this to be a mere dream, as she blinked away her tears, whispering her lover's name, encouraging him to continue his actions, a request he was all too willing to comply with.
Kurosaki-san!
Her back arched against the satin contact of his flickering tongue, her breasts lurching forward as she propped herself up, supporting her body with her forearms, shattering the atmosphere with her tainted cries; her sounds ricocheted across the Earth's shielded layers, reaching the furthest corners of the planet, as she held her breath upon hearing low growls tear from her partner's lips, his throat thrumming against her flesh similarly to a lupined soul on the hunt. It took her a few moments to realize that they weren't his sounds, but in fact his... Kurosaki…
"CUT!"
Her faux pas ambience shattered instantly, as she squinted, blinded by studio lights, her true soul returning to her hollow shell, her blushes flaring, as she covered her chest from the stage crew's view.
"God dammit, can you not stay in character for 5 freaking minutes?!" Her hurt gaze drifted away from her fictitious lover, hovering a few inches above the shiny black lino composing the studio floor, suddenly feeling self-conscious of her body with the cameras and stares glaring at her.
Huh? Did I do something wrong? She pouted, voicing her doubts, causing a stir within the studio, as she glanced around, noting the Director sigh and hold his head in his hands.
"Look, it's a common problem for new actors in this field, it doesn't matter, just carry on, and we'll edit it out."
"Uh... But Kubo-san, what was it I did wrong?"
"Just remember the character's name is Katsuo, okay?" She blinked, unsure of what he was implying, merely nodding and gulping in reply, as she took a deep breath, preparing herself to become her character once more, laying down against the bed in an attempt to do so. Ichigo lowered his head, brushing his strands of hair across her thighs, drawing unintentional moans from her lips, squirming at the warm breaths against her nerves, her body feeling suddenly at unease in his presence. Her hands relaxed at her sides, as her chest rose and fell against the air, uncharacteristic thoughts flooding into her mind.
'You both ready?" Orihime bit her lip, knowing in her mind she wasn't, as she nodded for the sake of everyone's patience, in hope she'd limit the hatred she knew was coursing through her colleagues veins at that exact moment. "3... 2... 1... Action!"
The cameras circled overhead similarly to vultures shadowing their prey, as his actions began once more, delicate strokes of his tongue shattering her resolve in a matter of seconds; she lay uncomfortably, her anxiety rising deep within her, struggling to dissolve into her role as all manner of qualms and worries clouded her mind, numbing her reactions instantaneously. The anaesthetic of his touch delving deep within her core suspended her breathing, as she bit her lip, broadcasting her pleading angst; he continued to caress her with a cherishing pressure, which became amplified to the thousandth degree under the persistent panic ploughing through her narrowed veins, praying to God for someone to stop filming for a brief second. She knew in her heart this wasn't Kurosaki, and she cursed herself for desiring it to be so, as a thousand volts splintered through her rationality, biting her tongue each time his name rose in her throat, restraining her body from having its way.
She battled against her libido, driving it back to its imprisonment in the farthest depths of her mind, imploring her reason to see sense from the situation, praying for salvation of any sort; many hollow prayers later, her efforts were in vain, as the pressure only strengthened, her coarse throat whimpering as she came close to her climax, biting her lip to silence her useless cries. She raised her head against the smirked lips brushing across the insides of her thighs, gulping as she felt his hands slide the skirt away from obstruction, startling her by his sudden proximity, shadowing her body with his arms. He rocked her gently, trailing his tongue along her temple, tracing her neck as he listened to her pulse with keen ears; she stuttered a moan, shaking her head as the amorous couple knelt upright together, locked in a warm embrace.
She damned herself for it, but she knew there was no way getting back into her character now, as she glimpsed into his clouded gaze, praying for some trait of Kurosaki to leak through; she barely even knew him, or even why she wanted to have him be the one to make love to her, but the lust was driving her insane, disregarding the script as she improvised her own feelings, stitching them to her lips, wearing her heart on her absent sleeve, praying to God he couldn't read the true meanings behind them.
His lips drifted across the bridge of her nose, mumbling sentimental words against her skin, as she absorbed each syllable into her heart, closing her eyes in tandem with her deep breaths. Her hands began to work of their own accord, skating across the burly plane of his chest with as much eloquence as a glider, taking pleasure in the contrast of both smooth and toned elements shaping his body, skimming the lower hem of his shirt in an attempt to lift the trying hindrance. As though reading her mind, a smirk crept across his hazy face, her conscious searching for some form of clarity, watching him tug the shirt over his head, discarded it to the side with a swift flick of his wrist, taking her firm chest into his willing grasp, beckoning her against the bed in a sharp motion.
"Katsu-"
"You're impossibly beautiful, Asami," His chest heaved against hers in their passionate tangle, his warm breaths inching down her sloped neck, drawing her moans out fortuitously, an act that only encouraged his advances. "I love you more than anything, let me prove this to you," Her breath became lodged in her throat, combing the vast terrains of her mind for the right words.
"Katsuo…" She breathed softly, blowing out her fears, blanking the environments around her. "You make me feel something I've never felt before… I remember the first time that we met, the first time that we hugged, kissed, the first time you told me you loved me… Nothing compares to the love I felt when you came back, nothing compares to the love I have for you now, knowing that I'll never be alone again," A commotion started on the opposite side of the room, as the Director held his hand up, silencing the crew as he listened to her straying from the script. "People told me that I'd only ever fall in love once, but I don't believe them; every time I see your face, every time I hear your voice, I fall in love with you all over again." She watched his eyes cloud over with an unfamiliar emotion, bewilderment, but with a heavy mist, shrouded with a sense of toil, as he scrambled around in his mind, narrowing his gaze as if to question her motives.
"You don't need to prove anything to me, Katsuo; I love you with everything I have, I trust you," He regained his composure, navigating himself back on track with the help of the right words; his thin lips curved up into a sincere smile, lunging deep into her heart with his heartfelt reaction, as he buried his coarse tongue against her neck, nestling the sleek curves of her décolletage. His teeth grazed across her skin, as low growls oscillated from his husky throat, his hands fumbling away at the buckle clasping his belt together, unfastening the button and zip from the khaki trousers, hurling them aside with a sense of urgency, determined to waste no more time straying away from his beloved's yearnings, knowing for himself the agony his cravings had caused him in his enforced absence.
He removed the final blockade, discarding the fabric to the side before steadying himself, making swift contact with the burning lust glazed across her guileless gaze, studying her quivering lips gleam rose under the light, pleading against his taunts. Her eyes glimpsed towards his exposed element, her torso writhing as her rouged blushes begged him to stop, her mind certain that an object of that magnitude could never possibly fit within her dainty physique. He replied with a simple smile, followed by a harsh thrust, penetrating her core with a great force, drawing her moans out to combat the serene air; her exposed flesh ignited with pure cinders, curling and dancing through the atmosphere, pirouetting and settling around them, similarly to the blossoms scattering from their branches outside their window left ajar. He leaned forward, assaulting her lip with his tongue, requesting entrance as he rested his body align with hers, the contours of their bodies patching together seamlessly, as though they were matching pieces, fashioned for one another's indefinitely.
His face hovered inches above hers, casting bleak shadows across her reddened cheeks, flaring with chagrin as she watched the actor take the sole traces of purity remaining in her mind, body and soul, all for the sake of her career; she breathed silently, feeling the crux of her sanity degenerate with each movement ascending from the inane man, her consciences battling over right and wrong, knowing deep in her heart that this was definitely one of her rasher impulsive decisions she'd made in her life; his name rose in her throat persistently, as though her inner demons were relentless to make her look a fool, as the pace steadied, his bristly groans resounding along her flesh, impaling her heart with the sheer resonance, ricocheting throughout her mind forevermore. She closed her eyes against the rhythmic sonata, her pouted lips occasionally leaking a soft moan into the score, eluding the thoughts of love and lust from her psyche, her dazed state mesmerized by the irrefutable pleasure surging its way through her bloodstream.
Her thighs lay astride his hips, allowing more force into his shifts to become absorbed by her joints, amplifying the pressure driven deep within her, as each plunge shattered her resolve into minute splinters of her cupidity; her lungs became besieged by her breaths evading their duty, her blissful sighs masking the heavens with their entrancing melody, enticing angels to fall, wilting feathers shedding over the atmosphere, as pillared flames scattered from their sphere, dispersing across the hollow afternoon sky.
Her sighs evolved into crescendo'ed moans, as the unsought words broke free from their fleshy prison, her unruly lips trembling against the name echoing everlastingly through the air, forcing her eyes to burst open, the discomfiture of her position burying deep into her essence; she jolted upright, shying her face away from the view of her audience, slinking her hands under her arms as she covered her chest, her ears pinned back, awaiting the criticisms to arise.
"I'm… I'm sorry, Kubo-san,"
"You know, I think we've filmed enough for today; maybe if you take a break, you'll find it easier to slip back into character, Inoue."
She nodded, veiling her face from the studio's view, turning her body away from their visual path, as she slipped into the robe laid out for her at the side of the set, covering her exposed flesh in a quick swipe of her hands, embracing her body with her insecure state of mind, failing to hold back the sobs that threatened to slope up within her throat. A single tear fell from her cheek, splattering across the studio floor, shattering into a thousand daughter droplets, as the sound became augmented by the sheer silence shrouding the studio in her abashed ambience; she blacked out the world that she knew with her own realm, a kingdom forlorn, lost from the grouped coterie shrouding her with their mere concern, her heart praying for it to either be a dream, or to be forgotten by the next day.
Fuck.
