Fleeting Moments

By AthousandYearsofNaivety

A look into the twisted relationship of Inoue Orihime and Kurosaki Ichigo. My first official fanfic so please be gentle.

Disclaimer: Involves strong adult themes. Oh yeah, I don▓t own Bleach either, so please don▓t sue me Tito Kube.

Fleeting Moments

She just wanted to make him happy. That's what Orihime deliriously reminded herself over and over. The thought continued to echo within the depths of her mind, with increasing weight and purpose. That is what she thought, that was what she knew, that was she believed as she dazedly stared up at Ichigo, eyes covered in a veil of tears.And not a single word escaped her.

She knew he didn't love her, at least the way he loved Rukia. But for this fleeting moment of their bodies entangled in a jungle of limbs and sweat, and breath, she really didn't care if he was pretending she were that raven haired, smaller shinigami. No, at this very time she had him. Orihime could feel all of Ichigo's pain, frustration, fear bleeding into her, his hips smacking into her own, making her back arch, and the rest of her body thrash against the matress.

Her fingertips gripped the thick blonde shock of his hair and her body only felt him. Her empathic nature, truly believed every ounce of his pain and worry were leaving him. But she still continued to cry silent tears, tears either Ichigo did not care to see, or obviously ignored. Every time their body's met, she yearned for more, trying hard to fight the realization that this or that sensation would be the last between them.

And just as her eyes met with his, the conclusion to their amorous symphony would start. She watched, eyes brimming still with unshed tears, watching with the withheld shock of a stunned audience. It was so beautiful to her as his eyes fluttered shut, and his body pressed so close and tight, almost as if he were protecting her...like so many times before. With wild abandon he drove into her faster and harder, fingers tangling in her slicken orange hair. Eventually, she felt it, his essence firing inside of her.

And yes she did cry when his voice cracked, before deeply called out, "Rukia." Her reply was low sobs barely audible, salty tears sliding down her cheeks. For a moment, his gaze cast down upon her, twisting into an expression of deep regret, but almost in an instance his emotions reverted into indifference, perhaps tinged with anger, and he quickly moved away from her, turning his back, seating himself on the side of the bed.

This time she did not bother to move the hair that stuck to her moistened lips, nor try to quell her sobs, or even glance at him as he dressed and quickly left her in her empty bedroom. Because by now she was used to this. By now she had learned her place. She'd never be Rukia. She'd never be the center of his affection. But it was okay to be his, if just for a fleeting moment...