A/N: I hope everyone had a happy Holloween. Sorry for being so inactive this past month; I got completely obsessed with Fade To Black and fanfiction kinda went down my priority list. I have now seen that movie a total of forty times—and counting: thirteen times that first week and then at least once a day ever since. No joke.
Just so you know, the majority of this chapter was written between the hours of midnight and 2 a.m. It was later typed up and edited during those hours, too, because every time I try reading, writing or even thinking about this story during the daytime, I find so many things wrong with it—things I don't notice when I'm on the brink of exhaustion.
Word of warning: there is a lemon towards the end of this chapter. I'm hoping it turned out okay.
Preface
"Did we really have to come here tonight?"
"Nope." With a smirk, Ichigo switches off the engine and walks around the trunk of the car to the passenger door. He opens it and smiles down at the occupant pouting inside.
"I can get out on my own," the girl retorts. Nevertheless, she takes the hand that he offers and steps out into the moonlight. Her dress swishes in the light breeze and the fabric brushes smoothly against her legs. His smile softens.
"I know, but we are trying to be conventional tonight, remember?"
She rolls her eyes, a sigh accompanying the motion. "Very well. Let's go, then."
Ichigo, clad in the black tuxedo that will probably never leave his closet again, gladly takes his cue and begins leading her by the hand towards the hall that's already teeming with music and lights and excitement. They arrive shortly at the entrance, standing just before the threshold that separates the natural beauty of the school's courtyard to the artificial exhilaration of the party taking place inside.
He looks to her, and she asks, "What's wrong? Aren't we going in?"
"Yeah," he says, "but there's something I want to do first."
Before she even has a chance to ask, he leans down just enough to press his lips softly against hers in a gentle caress.
"That's not the way you normally kiss me," she half-states, half-complains, after he's done.
"Well, it's the way a normal couple would kiss—in public, at least."
She pouts. "Who came up with this idea of us trying to be normal?"
"You did." He laughs. She attempts a glare but he reminds her, "None of that tonight. We're trying for one outing without some kind of incident." He smiles again, causing his eyes to smoulder—he knows she can't resist him like that. And so, she sighs, defeated.
"Fine—I get it." She's about to take a step forward, ready to prove—both to herself and to everyone else—that they are capable of keeping trouble at bay for one night, when Ichigo pulls on her hand and turns her to face him.
He runs his thumb along her cheekbone and leans in again, this time much slower, concentrated. She can tell he's about to kiss her again, but before he does, he says something that stuns her into submission.
"I love you, Rukia."
And she is surprised, because as far as she knows, that's the first time he's ever said those words to her in the whole twelve months—twelve months minus the countless weeks' worth of bumps along the road—they've been together.
Before her mind has finished processing that fact, however, she feels the full force of his mouth on hers, devouring and greedy—the typical way in which their lips meet. She is tempted to scold him—just as he did her—for slipping into their usual habits, but she reconsiders—because she knows she can't bring herself to blame him. After all, dysfunctional is all they've known since that one fateful night, exactly a year ago from now…
Moonlit Escape
Chapter 1: One Night
Ichigo Kurosaki has always hated school dances. However, on that particular day, his brother was away at his first year of college and his dad was working the night shift at the hospital. And, as lame as it sounds, he didn't feel like being alone in the house that night.
But, as he tapped the foot of his shoe—again and again—against the floor of the remodelled school gym, he really wished he'd opted for a night in instead, watching a movie or even getting ahead on his maths homework—anything but this. He couldn't see the appeal that other—'normal'—people seemed to find in these social functions.
Half an hour into the night, he decided to try out some of the punch that had no doubt already been tainted with alcohol by that point, hoping it'd make things at least seem a little more interesting. It didn't, really. It did, however, make him feel a little lightheaded—high—and he deemed it best to stop halfway through his second glass—he did have to drive home, after all.
"That's it—I'm outta here," he eventually grumbled to himself. He had begun scanning the interior of the hall, searching for the exit, when he was held back a few moments more by a nuisance he hadn't hoped to encounter that night.
"Umm… Ichigo?" a timid female voice mumbled from behind him. He turned lazily to see Orihime Inoue standing there, her hands fumbling with the fabric of her long, white dress as she looked down to avoid his gaze. He mentally rolled his eyes; this girl had a real talent of beating around the bush.
She continued, unaware of—or not willing to acknowledge—his speculation. "I was wondering if… maybe… I could… have this dance?" She nervously held out her hand, desperately hoping he'd take it.
He didn't. "Sorry, Orihime," he said, already shifting his feet in the direction of the double doors at the entrance—his one way out. "I have to go. Maybe some other time," he lied.
He promptly turned on his heel and began taking quick strides towards the main exit, leaving no chance for the bashful girl to speak. He thought he had heard the beginnings of a sob rise from her throat, and he felt just the slightest bit guilty. When he later took a brief glance behind himself, however, he saw a lean man with jet-black hair wiping away her tears with his long, pale fingers.
Ichigo internally sighed in relief.
It was a nice night outside. The moon was high and the air was cool, crisp, like heaven against one's skin. Ichigo, however, didn't stop to notice these things; he just wanted to get home as soon as humanly possible.
He rounded the parking lot and found his car just where he'd left it, under the shade of a large oak tree in between many other vehicles for which he didn't give a second glance to. He reached into the pocket of his jeans and was about to unlock the front door of his car, when something compelled him to a halt. At that moment, the full, shining moon had moved its way from behind the cover of tree leaves and branches, bestowing its radiant luminance upon the car parked next to his.
There was a girl sitting there on the trunk, her dainty head propped up on her knees with her arms securely wrapped around her legs. She was wearing a simple yet striking crimson-red dress that exposed the pale skin of her shoulders and cut off just below the thigh. She was staring straight ahead, not really seeing anything, with a melancholic look on her face. The sight made him think twice about leaving the dance quite so early.
He didn't even know the girl. Sure, they were in the same school and year level, but she wasn't especially popular or social, nor had she ever been in his class. So why did he suddenly feel such a riveting fascination towards her?
Perhaps it was the liquor—he hadn't had much experience with drinking before, so he couldn't be sure—but something was compelling him to stay and make her acknowledge him. And so, without thinking, he blurted out, "You look beautiful."
Under the shine of moonlight, he noticed her blush profusely before turning to face him with an expression between apprehension and embarrassment. After staying silent for a moment too long, she mumbled, "Uh, thanks," and then turned back to face the night sky once more.
Ichigo walked around his car to the one he presumed belonged to her. "May I join you?" he asked, cool but friendly.
She unbound her legs, stretching them out, and leaned back against the windshield of the sleek, black car. She shifted over a little, making room for company, and patted the vacant space invitingly. "Be my guest," she said.
He climbed up next to her on the solid metal frame. For a moment there, he thought the car was going to collapse under the burden of his weight, but the quivering movements soon came to a standstill and he allowed himself to relax, unconsciously imitating the girl's stance as his broad shoulders came to rest against the thick glass screen behind him.
"Ichigo Kurosaki," he said out of the blue, and she turned to him, perplexed.
He started again, holding out a hand and clearing his throat. "The name's Ichigo Kurosaki. Nice to meet you."
Comprehension replaced the confusion on her face as she took his hand and shook it, her grip much firmer than he had expected of a girl with her stature. "Rukia Kuchiki," she replied. "It's an honour."
They both gave the other an inconspicuous once-over before leaning back into their former positions and letting the peaceful silence and serenity seep back into the atmosphere. It was like that for a little while, both of them wishing for something—though they didn't know what exactly—to happen but neither wishing to break the tranquillity.
Rukia was the one who had the guts to speak first. "So," she said suddenly, catching him off-guard, "what brings you here to my neck of the woods?"
He almost smiled. "Dances and parties aren't really my thing," he answered.
"Funny, that. So why are you here in the first place?"
"Why are you?"
"I was invited," she said, "by a friend."
He raised a brow at the word friend. "A date?" he questioned, feeling somewhat jealous for reasons he couldn't yet place.
She replied as honestly as she could. "I guess you could say that. His name's Renji. Great guy."
"And you love him?"
She shrugged. "He's been my best friend for as long as I can remember, but it's so hard to figure out whether he wants us to be any more than that."
"So why isn't he here with you now?"
Once again, she shrugged as if she didn't care. "Last I heard, he's playing drinking games with some idiot friends of his. And trust me; you do not want to be in the same room as him when he's drunk. It's not a pretty sight."
"He asked you to wait here for him?"
She shook her head. "I don't think he even noticed me leave. I would probably have gone home by now, too, if not for the fact that he is my ride home." She let out a small laugh, mostly at herself. "How unfortunate, right? By the time he gets back, it'll be lucky if he can still stand upright on his own, let alone drive a mile without completely totalling the car while he's at it."
All of a sudden, Ichigo had hopped off the trunk and was pulling Rukia along with him to his car. "Hey, what are you doing?!" she fumed, her slender wrist tightly in his grasp.
He forced her into the passenger seat as he positioned himself behind the wheel. He hurriedly secured the seat belt around her struggling form, locked all the doors, and started up the engine.
"Are you insane?! What in the world do you think you're doing?!" She freed her hands and reached for the clasp at the end of the flexible strap.
"Shut up," Ichigo replied, catching Rukia's wrist in one hand while the other stayed on the wheel. He was backing out of his parking spot, preparing to leave the school for the second time that day. "I'm not letting that Renji—whoever he is—drive you home if he's drunk. I wouldn't want you damaging your pretty little face in a car accident now," he said. She could tell by his tone that he was being serious, which is what made her turn away and blush.
They sat in silence for the next few minutes. Ichigo returned both hands to the wheel once he trusted that Rukia wouldn't struggle again. They were on the main road by then, anyway—what was she going to do? Jump out?
"Where are you taking me?" she asked eventually, a little sceptical.
In all honesty, he hadn't thought that far ahead. This little escapade had purely been a spur-of-the-moment decision, after all. So, he continued on that bout of spontaneity, knowing but not caring about what his actions could bring.
"I'm taking you to dinner," he answered. It had been the first thing to come to mind.
Not two minutes later, they were pulling into the parking lot of a humble neighbourhood diner. It wasn't particularly packed, though it still attracted a fair amount of business. Ichigo and Rukia walked inside silently side-by-side.
The interior was bright and tidy. Chatter was kept to a low hum of voices and the tables were neatly spaced apart to allow for some degree of privacy in the quaint little shop. "Welcome," a young, smiling waitress greeted the pair at the door. "A table for two?"
They both nodded, and before they knew it, they were being escorted to a regular square table in the far corner of the room, beside the wall-sized glass window that looked out onto the busy road outside.
"Here are your menus. I'll be back to take down your order in a minute." The waitress bowed and turned to leave the two to their exchange.
"Order whatever you like," said Ichigo. "I'm buying."
"In that case," Rukia began impishly, "I'll take everything here on the menu."
"Suit yourself."
Her expression dropped. "I wasn't being serious."
"Good. Neither was I." He folded up his menu, placing it back down on the table, and leaned back in his seat. "I just figured since you're so small that it wouldn't cost much to feed you, anyway."
She decided to let that comment slide, though the words since you're so small were still replaying themselves in her head like a broken record. "Why are you doing this?" she asked, genuinely curious.
He briefly directed his gaze in her direction, before returning his focus to the lights splayed across the ceiling. "It's much more fun to spend the night with company, don't you think?" he said.
"But why me?" she questioned, a little suspicion seeping into her tone. "I mean, you don't even know me."
"Well, maybe I'd like to know you." He leaned forward and crossed his arms on the tabletop, ready to listen to anything she had to offer. "So, what don't I know about you?"
Everything, she wanted to say. But instead, she found herself really speaking to him and answering his questions from the heart. She was baring her soul to this strange boy whom she'd never spoken more than three words to before that night. Looking back on it, it's funny how these things just seem to happen and take on a momentum of their own.
The ride home was considerably more comfortable than the ride from the dance. It was a little hard for either of them to get their head around, but over that past hour or so—they'd easily lost track of the time—they had broken past the barrier of being virtually strangers and crossed over into friends—perhaps more. Naturally, there was still a lot they had yet to learn about the other, but they were working on it so that not a minute they spent together was wasted.
"So your mother passed away eight years ago…" Rukia said, looking down at her knees. "I'm sorry to hear that."
"Don't be. It was a long time ago. And besides," he said, "there's no shame in dying."
She nodded. "I see."
"Anyway," he diverted, "what about you? What's your family like?"
She seemed a little reluctant to answer. "Well, my brother and I—" She stopped suddenly. And then, "Oh, shit. My brother."
She didn't continue, which prompted Ichigo to raise a very perplexed brow and ask, "What's wrong?"
She lightly slapped herself on the forehead. "How could I forget?" She seemed to be talking more to herself than to Ichigo. "He specifically told me to be home by ten o'clock. Oh, he's going to kill me; I just know it."
As Rukia continued with her self-ramblings of dread and horror, another impulsively thought-out plan formed in Ichigo's head. He smirked at the idea.
"Hey, Ichigo," Rukia said to him. "You're going to have to get me home—now. It's just near the—"
"There's no need," he interrupted matter-of-factly. Rukia blinked, a little stunned, not sure if she should be confused or angry. She went with both.
"What the hell are you saying, idiot?! Are you trying to get me into trouble?! Do you know what my brother's like?! He told me to be back by ten and if I'm not—"
"Quit your bellyaching," he said offhandedly. "It's giving me a headache."
"Why you…" she all but growled. "Take me home this instant!"
"Did he say which day you needed to be home?"
She paused, a look of puzzlement etched on her face. "What?"
"Your brother," he clarified, "you said he told you to be home by ten, but did he specifically say tonight at ten?"
This threw her off a little. Finally, she mumbled, "I think those kinds of things are self-implied."
"Implied," he emphasised, "not set in stone. So, technically, that means it wouldn't be breaking curfew if you spend the night at my place and just go back tomorrow."
The sudden proposition—and the casualness of his delivery—was yet another surprise for Rukia to take in. She looked down at her hands that were folded in her lap. "My brother's going to kill me."
Strangely enough, it didn't sound like a rebuttal, but more a resignation—an acceptance.
"So it's okay with you?" He was astounded by the ease with which she agreed to the notion; she didn't seem like one to break the rules quite so willingly.
"So long as we have one thing straight," she said.
"And what might that be?"
"If my brother asks, you kidnapped me. Got that?"
He laughed at her one lone stipulation. "Aye, aye," he agreed heartily. He briefly imagined what it would be like to actually kidnap this girl. Funnily enough, it wasn't the ransom that seemed like the most appealing aspect of the deal; it was the thought of making her belong to him—only him and no one else—forever.
The house was dark and empty when they arrived. Ichigo's dad wouldn't be arriving home until morning, so they had it all to themselves.
"Drink?" Ichigo offered as he led Rukia into the kitchen.
"What do you have?"
He held the fridge door open for her as she peered in to see row on row of wine and liquor. "Take your pick."
She raised a very cynical eyebrow. "Is there something I should know about you?"
He shrugged. "I'm a recovering alcoholic."
"Oh, really?" The scepticism in her tone was almost tangible. He snickered playfully.
"I wish. Nah, these are just my brother's for whenever he decides to grace us with his presence again." He took out a bottle and walked over to the cabinet to retrieve a clean, translucent wineglass. "You see, he's a college student," Ichigo explained as he filled the cup halfway with clear liquor, "and he only comes home about once a month, I'd say—I've lost track."
He held the glass towards Rukia in offering but she turned it down with a polite shake of her head. He lifted the goblet to his own mouth, prepared to drink down the contents, but then, instead of taking a swig, he placed it back down onto the counter and gestured towards the stairs down the hall. "Perhaps I should show you the rest of the house first."
She grinned, sly and subtle. "Oh, please do."
Her fingers brushed along the frames atop Ichigo's dresser, and she felt the dust gather against her skin. The photos obviously hadn't been in contact with any kind of solid in a long, long time.
She picked up the first picture, using her other hand to wipe away the obscuring particles on the glass surface. It was the photo of a boy, no more than six years old, on a playground swing, smiling so wide you could see every one of his brilliant white teeth. It was rather adorable, to say the least. Rukia suddenly felt the urge to smile, too, and without even realising it, she was.
The dresser she stood at had an adjoining mirror attached to the back. The top of it went way past her head—which isn't saying much, really. It matched Ichigo's height perfectly, though, as shown when he approached her from behind, watching her studying his childhood photos in the mirror's reflection. "What are you doing?" he asked.
"What does it look like?"
He rolled his eyes. "Yeah, I get that. Still, those really aren't worth looking at. I've been meaning to pack them away somewhere; just haven't found the time."
"I think they're nice," she disputed, smiling at the snapshots. "You look really cute in them, you know that?"
He couldn't help but blush; after all, it wasn't everyday that somebody actually called him cute. "Uh… thanks."
She put the frame down and turned to face him.
"Hmm…" she mused, staring at him intently in a scrutinising fashion. It was making him feel a little uncomfortable, but just as he was about to turn his head, she reached up and grabbed hold of both sides of his face. Then, with her right index finger, she reached for the centre of his eyebrows and attempted to undo the furrow with her fingertips.
"What are you—"
"I think you could still look cute. You just need to lose the scowl." She used the thumb of her left hand to lightly pull at the sides of his lips. "Smiling helps," she suggested with amusement, only causing his frown to deepen further. She laughed; it was just so much fun to rile him up. But then, something seemed to change—a shift in their rapport—and the air between them tightened.
Rukia's hands were still on Ichigo's face, and she suddenly didn't want to let go. She looked up to meet his gaze, wondering if he was feeling the same way.
His eyes were glassy, the ambers melting to liquid, as they continued to stare into hers, unable to look away.
"Ichigo…" There was something about the way his name rolled off her tongue; it just sounded right, as if it were meant to be. But there was more to it when she said it this time; it was filled with a longing that even she couldn't quite understand.
Ichigo answered her yearning plea by holding a hand against the back of her head, caressing her silky black locks, and leaning down to lessen the height difference between them. Rukia was thankful for the help as she stood up on the tip of her toes and, with her grip never leaving his face, closed the remaining distance between them, crushing her lips against his.
It was a bit awkward at first, adjusting to the sensation of moving in time with the other, but they overcame it soon enough, quickly letting themselves sink into the kiss—the first but surely not the last they shared.
After a while, Rukia ran the tip of her tongue along Ichigo's bottom lip, and as if on reflex, he parted the seals of his mouth, granting her permission to enter. She accepted the invitation with charm, slowly slipping her tongue into his orifice. Once it was inside, she controlled it with gentle initiative as it traced the inner walls of his mouth.
The taste was truly addictive. She couldn't really explain it; it didn't seem to have an apparent tang like bitter or sweet. Instead, he seemed to have a unique flavour of his very own—and she hoped she would be the only one to ever try it.
After what felt like forever but still too short, Rukia returned her tongue to her own mouth and sealed Ichigo's lips with another placid kiss before pulling back to survey the effects of their spontaneous deeds.
They shared a look—there was a new depth to their eyes that wasn't there before—and that was enough to tell the other what they were too astounded to say.
Their lips were quickly at each other's again. It wasn't clear who started it, but it was clear that neither wanted to stop it.
This kiss seemed more passionate than the first—something neither of them would have thought possible—which most likely routed from how sure they knew they wanted this now. There also seemed to be a trust forming between them that only seemed to grow stronger with each and every second they were in each other's presence.
Somewhere during the course of that second kiss, Ichigo began gradually guiding Rukia backwards, step by step, until they reached the edge of his bed. Their lips never broke apart as they both sank onto the mattress, still mostly upright, and Rukia tangled her fingers in Ichigo's shock of orange hair, pulling him ever closer, whilst his hands slowly crept their way up her thighs, around her hips to the small of her back, and finally stopped at the zipper of her dress.
Rukia's breath hitched in her throat. She pulled away just enough to look at his face, and laid a precautionary hand on his arm. "Wait," she said.
She received a perplexed look from Ichigo, which only added to the red on her cheeks as she bit her lip, nervous and more than a little embarrassed. "I… I've never… done this before," she admitted, resisting the heavy urge to turn away.
But, to her surprise, he merely smiled at her reaction and leaned in close to whisper, "Neither have I."
She found this revelation a great relief and—frankly—a bit of surprise. "Oh" was all she could manage at the time. He chuckled.
"So, I guess we're both stepping into a minefield here. You sure about this?"
Rukia didn't need more than a second to think it over; she was already adamant on her decision. "I'm sure."
"That's all I needed to hear."
As soon as those words were uttered, his mouth closed in on hers again. And, at the same time, his fingers were inexpertly pulling the zip down her back, gradually exposing more and more of her pale flesh to the cool air of his room.
Somewhere in the back of her mind, she was tempted to protest. It wasn't like her to make such rash decisions like this. But the words wouldn't form; the better part of her intellect knew it didn't want to put a halt to this wondrous moment. It felt all too right—too perfect—to just throw away because of petty fears of the unknown. Like Ichigo had said, they were entering a minefield here, but she figured that as long as she wasn't alone in her uncertainty, she could handle whatever came their way.
Her resolve was firm and solid as Ichigo finished with her zipper and began pulling the dress over her head, revealing the rest of her smooth, fair skin. Once that had been slipped off, he continued by removing her black, silk lingerie and tossing the fabric to the floor, leaving her bare and vulnerable.
It made her nervous, exposing herself like this. She'd never trusted anyone enough to allow them indulgence in her secret treasures before—this was a first. The anxiety made her turn away to the side as she sensed Ichigo's eyes wandering over her humble figure.
For a moment, she thought he would reject her, dismayed by the sight of her physique, but then she felt him move his hands to hold her by the waist, before dipping his head down to her left breast and taking the supple mound into his mouth. Rukia gasped, then moaned, his motions providing her with sensations she had never felt before. "Ichigo…"
He was glad she was finding pleasure in this, as it meant he was doing something right, but it was also making his jeans feel rather tight and uncomfortable around his lower regions. The forthcoming erection was excruciating to contain.
Rukia felt Ichigo halt his movements and pull away. She looked at him curiously. He answered the question in her eyes by pulling his shirt over his head and then unzipping his pants until he could slip those off, too, both garments landing carelessly on the floor beneath them. Rukia took a moment then to admire his remarkable bare chest.
It wasn't noticeable when he was wearing a shirt, but his muscles were perfectly toned and flawless. They weren't overly defined—which put Rukia at ease—yet they were strong and well-formed. It took her a few double takes to pry her eyes away from his upper body to notice that his hands were moving to the edge of his pale blue boxers. He pulled them down and they were soon on the floor with the rest of their clothing. His stiff, erect member was now free of any restraints or binds. Rukia's eyes instantly dilated to double their size.
Ichigo read the hesitation in her expression and said, "If you don't want to do this, then—"
But he was interrupted by the force of her lips against his—not that he was complaining. She lifted her legs up onto the bed, never breaking the kiss, and pulled Ichigo up to the same level in one motion. She laid herself back against the sheets, guiding him along with her, and finally removed her mouth from his. He pulled back to survey the position they were in.
Rukia lay beneath him with her legs wide open as he knelt between them with his impatient organ throbbing harder than ever in such close proximity to its target. "Well?" Rukia prompted, almost as eager as his arousal. She was already thoroughly wet from their brief foreplay and didn't think she could stand the suspense for much longer. "Do it, Ichigo. I'm sure about this; I want you to be my first."
Her words made him feel like he was walking on clouds, but also like those very same clouds could collapse and send him plummeting to his doom after one wrong move. It was a lot of pressure—what if he wasn't good enough?—but he was glad she chose to put such faith in him. He vowed to himself that he would do his best not to disappoint.
And so, he shifted a little closer, both dreading and anticipating his next move. Just as the tip of his shaft was almost at her entrance, he paused—unsure.
"Ichigo," Rukia said, "just relax. It's only going to make it harder if you're all tense like this." She reached up to brush her fingers against his cheek. "Know that I'm not asking for this to be perfect; I'm just asking for this to be real."
He didn't entirely understand what she meant by that, but her words were reassuring, and it pressed him to go on and take charge of the situation, not fear it. He took a deep breath. Here goes nothing.
He was overly cautious as the head of his member entered her taut opening, moving in slowly and ineptly. Despite the clumsiness that derived from inexperience, he had to admit the feeling was enticing. The warm tightness of Rukia's innermost walls tantalised his hard organ to proceed further and yearn to be engulfed by her on all sides.
She had expected this to hurt—a lot—but it wasn't as bad as she had imagined. Granted it was a long way from being considered smooth sailing, it wasn't as painful or as bloody as her friends had described whenever they spoke of their first times.
"Ichigo…" she moaned as she clung to his back, urging him closer—though they were already about as close as two people could possibly get.
"Rukia…" He answered her moans with his own, all the whole moving deeper inside her whilst still being mindful of her sensitivity. He became more comfortable in his rhythm after finding no sign of pain tarnishing her features, and so he began going that little bit faster, harder.
Rukia's senses were quickly being overcome by this intense sensation bubbling up inside her lower stomach. It was like nothing she had ever felt before; it was incredible yet torturous, sweet yet sour. She deduced from everything that she'd read and heard in her seventeen years that this is how you felt before reaching an orgasm. And—sure enough—she was right.
Not a minute later, she reached her peak, more than ready and willing to release this built-up tension in her core. She hadn't expected the effect to be so strong, but it was her first time experiencing it, after all, so it was bound to feel a little overwhelming. What was really unnerving, though, was that for one golden second—blinded by the moment of inexplicable pleasure—all she could see was her and Ichigo. She felt complete and fulfilled, like she wouldn't need anyone or anything else ever again. She only needed him—and that was all. She felt whole.
It seemed Ichigo's thoughts were running along the same wavelength as hers, just as he himself gave into his first ever climax and released his love, hot and thick, into her welcoming cavern. He noticed that her joints and muscles loosened even further than before when she felt him come inside her. She sighed in deep contentment, her thoughts too much of a disconcerted blur to be articulated as rational speech.
By this point, they both felt utterly wiped. Ichigo pulled himself out of her and fell limp by her side. They were both panting to catch their breath, unable to draw in air for words.
Rukia regained control over her body first. "Wow, Ichigo. That was just…" She couldn't seem to find the right response, so she closed her eyes and said, "You're amazing, Ichigo."
"You sure are something yourself," he replied, ragged breaths punctuating his assertion. And then, after calming his erratic intakes of air to a steady rhythm, he added softly, "You know what? I think I might just be falling in love with you." He turned to face her then, inadvertently hopeful.
She was asleep. Her eyes were shut serenely and her chest rose up and down in silent breaths. It was possibly the most endearing thing he had ever seen in his life. And in that moment, it didn't matter that the first girl he had gotten the nerve to confess to had been unconscious to hear his admission; it was enough that she was there—enough, and more.
At that stage, neither of them realised how this night would eventually change their lives so completely and utterly, nor did they really want to think about it. It could wait—and so could everything else—until they were ready to come back down to Earth and face the obstacles that the future had in store for them.
School, family, friends… Little did they know that their relationships with these aspects of their lives were about to take a drastic turn, some for the better and some for the worst. They wish they could say their relationship was the one constant throughout the course of the next twelve months, but they would be lying; their relationship was the thing due to change the most that following year.
It was in the middle of spring—with the flowers already in full bloom—that Rukia and Ichigo's days together began.
A/N: I actually started writing the second chapter before even considering what happens in this one, so that's why this chapter is a bit rushed and fast-paced. Sorry about that.
So, I've written bits of the next few chapters but, beyond that, I have next to nothing planned for the rest of this story.
…
Well, doesn't this just sound so brilliantly thought-out?
Hmm, I guess the speed at which I update will be dictated by how much sleep I lose every night. So, is it worth it? Should I actually start going to bed at a reasonable hour—or should I continue staying up 'til 2 a.m. to work on this?