Title: Mocking
Author: Ancha289
Rating: T
Disclaimer: I do not own Bleach. It is the work of Kubo Tite and I only take his characters out to play with.
Authoress's Notes: Written for the 12 Tortures Theme here. Warnings for language and sexual-ish themes.
Thanks to Overtoned for the beta.
Pairings: Ichigo-->Rukia
Torture: Tongue Lashing
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Sometimes, Ichigo thought that his Hollow was worse than Rukia. His Hollow knew all of his secrets, all of his desires, all of his fears and above all, his Hollow knew just what to say to really piss him off.
Rukia, though, was a whole different type of torture. She flirted with him in public, just to make him blush and worry about his reputation. In her eyes, Ichigo needed no privacy, so she spent every waking second in his room, regardless of his activities. Above all, when had she become...attractive?
"She hasn't changed, my lord," the Hollow mocked him. "You're just not a little boy anymore. You should show her just how much you've grown. Or maybe...you don't know how to...well. You know."
Ichigo refused to respond. Rukia rolled over on his bed, holding her novel over her face. Her skirt twisted higher on her thighs, and Ichigo swallowed and returned his attention to his homework.
"Indulge once in a while, King. The little ice princess needs a little warming up."
"Ichigo?" Rukia half-questioned, half-murmured, dropping her book off the side of the bed. "Get me a blanket."
"Go back to your own room and get into your own bed," Ichigo replied, focusing on English and refusing to even glance at the young woman sprawled invitingly across his bed. "Don't pass out on mine."
She mewed and shifted again, saying something about how it was too far for her to move, and holyshitwerethoseherpantiesfucktheywere. He shot out of his chair and into the hallway, digging desperately in the linen closet for a blanket, any damn blanket he could find. Emerging victorious with a fleece blanket in his fist, he walked back into the room, steeling himself against the vision of pink and white flowers peeking out from the hem of her skirt. Rukia was already dozing, curled loosely on her side and half her face buried deep into his pillow.
He covered her form with the blanket, tucking her dangling arms beneath the fabric. A tendril of hair was caught between her lips. Ichigo carefully slid it behind her ear, his fingertips lingering on her dark locks. With a sharp exhalation, he left the bed and gathered up his homework, intent on finishing his essay in the kitchen.
"I swear, you're hopeless," the Hollow sighed.