Smut. All of it. If it isn't your thing, please feel free to skip this chapter.
-20-
Because it's Heat 101 that an omega would want to be with their alpha, it doesn't surprise Rukia one bit that she doesn't feel all that jolted to find that she's just as comfortable with Ichigo in proximity as she had been surrounded by her housemates. Even if they've only just recently 'became an actual thing', Rukia would take comfort – be happy – to just have Ichigo around – his scent, his clothes, him.
Even slightly sticky from the sudden drizzle outside.
She feels more clear-headed, definitely, than she had around her housemates. And noticeably less sleepy on top of that.
Strangely too, Rukia doesn't feel as irritated or annoyed as she would usually be. In fact, she feels wired – twitchy – restless in waves that are leagues ahead of how she'd feel during any other heat.
Then again, she's never spent her heat around a compatible alpha before.
It should panic her that they're apparently so far long in their bonding that the nature of her heat has shifted, but instead Rukia's more concerned about other things. Like the fact that even though Ichigo legitimately carried her from her apartment to his that she can't smell him.
Which is crazy.
Usually, at this distance there was no hiding his scent, and his scent is about the only thing missing from keeping her dumb lizard-omega brain from outright purring.
It's bad enough that Ichigo looks like himself.
It's even worse when he's being sweet and showing off like this; Rukia can feel the subtle shift and roll of his muscles around her and –
Ichigo's just locked the door behind him when, nose pressed against his chest, she asks with a confused murmur, "Why can't I scent you?"
He stops his trek deeper into the apartment, and thanks to the one arm he has looped beneath her thighs in a princess carry – because Rukia's life is apparently an omega cliché – Ichigo can't rub his neck in embarrassment, he stutters instead, "I…uh, didn't want to do anything to trigger your heat or make you react negatively when I visited so I wore blockers."
"They're strong," she declares with a pout.
"I took another shower and reapplied them fresh."
She blinks. "Both times you visited?"
"Ah," he nods because he's ridiculous and thoughtful.
Then, Rukia ventures, "Can you…scent me?"
He clears his throat, avoids eye contact, and admits, "You're covered in everyone else's scent though – Tatsuki and Rangiku's, and Nanao, I think?"
She hums. The thrill to poke and prod and tease, daring her to ask sweetly, "And does that…bother you?"
It should.
Not only is she an omega in heat, she's technically his omega in heat. Ichigo shouldn't want anyone else's scent on her but his own, but of course, with his blockers, he's not giving anything off.
Rukia doesn't have that problem.
She's probably releasing so many pheromones right now, it's a miracle he hasn't tried to have his way with her already. The thought makes her spine tingle in anticipation.
When he finally meets her gaze, his face flushes so red it warms his skin down the collar of his shirt, and he tries to scowl around his embarrassment. Wrapped in his arms and in his cardigan, she peers innocently up at him. Ichigo isn't fooled for a second. "You really are just here to torture me, aren't you?"
"Only torture if you don't like it," she sings, pressing a kiss to his cheek before she's climbing out of his arms, legs already trembling and saying, "I should probably shower off then. This way, right?"
Ichigo releases her easily, his eyes widening as she slides the cardigan down her shoulders so they pool at her feet before she turns for the bathroom, hands already curled around the hem of her shirt to toss it off before he makes an almost pained noise.
A teasing laugh wants to bubble out of her like the effervescent bubbles of a freshly uncorked champagne, but she smothers it to ask, "Yes?"
He looks a lot more serious, a lot more hesitant. "Is that…what you want?"
Her hands drop from her shirt, and she blinks at him, surprised. With more patience than she's used to, Ichigo reminds, "You usually spend your heat not doing that, and I don't want to change things in your routine if that's not what you want. We really can just…spend it in bed."
In a completely not sexual situation, if she wants, is what Rukia hears, and she has to physically resist the urge to beam at him. He's adorable.
"We could," she agrees, walking back to him to smooth the fists he's made of his hands at his sides, to stop the urge to take and take and take like he probably wants to.
"I wouldn't say no though to you showering everyone else's scents off," he admits, and Rukia presses a kiss against the knuckles she raises to her lips, and smiles.
"Will you help?"
She watches his Adam's Apple bob, fascinated; hungry. "We haven't tried shower sex yet, and I'm incredibly curious." Just thinking about all that golden skin, the rivets of water that would slide down his body –
"Rukia…"
"I've never spent a heat with someone before," she reminds unnecessarily, just barely shaking herself free from the daze of her fantasy. Her voice a low purr. "I'm not sure…if I want a knot. But. I do know I want you." Then, on tiptoes, she asks against his mouth, "Do you want me?"
His exhale is warm, and the hands he wraps around her hips – to grope her ass – to hold her to him – is hot through her clothes.
He licks at her lips, and even without his rut, his mouth is delicious.
Over her happy little sighs and the rumbling of his chest, Ichigo murmurs, "Take off your clothes."
Rukia grins and complies, though gets about as far as stripping off her shirt before he's tugging her pants off and lifting her off the ground, her legs winding around his hips, thighs already poised over the already hard, hot head of him through his jeans.
Her surprised gasp morphs into a moan that's punched out of her when he walks her to the wall to support her weight, her back arching as he finds that spot on her neck that sends her pulse throbbing.
His breath flutters like a butterfly's wings over her skin as he thrusts up into the tease of her tightness; the heat of him at the apex of her melts her from the inside out. The friction rough through the quickly dampening fabric between them; meeting his momentum with her own as she finds purchase against the firm pressure of his belt right there, right there, right there –
Ichigo swallows her every gasp and mewl, and with a deft hand, he unclips her bra, casting it on the floor to join her shirt and his cardigan.
His rough, large hand grazes over her peaked nipples before he's taking a handful and squeezing, thumb worrying the nub with pinches and little twists in time with her rocking against him. A fizzle of electricity creeps and crawls up and down her spine until it gathers and liquefies at her core.
Outside there's a crackle of thunder, a flash of lightning before the drizzle outside is a torrent crashing over the building in a sob.
Rukia breaks in just the same way.
Ichigo's lips nip, nip, nip down her bared naked as he slides her down the wall; sliding her ruined underwear off until she's bare to him in every way.
With her entirely naked, and him not at all; he keeps her spread over his lap where he's still hard beneath his jeans. His gaze is molten as he catches his breath, and when he replaces oxygen with her lips, her stuttered breath matches the jerk of her hips as his thumb strokes at her clit – touch careless and gentle despite the way his presence surrounds her, threatening to smother.
But.
It's comforting rather than suffocating.
Rukia wants him closer – close enough that there is no space between them, until somehow, she manages to scent him through his blockers which are intolerably strong that all she can make out is the smell of herself all over him.
It's the opposite of how this should go, but the thought of Ichigo smelling like her instead is intoxicating.
Ichigo himself doesn't seem to mind the reversal.
Quiet and rough, his voice is reverent, "You're so wet."
Her sex pants, greedily swallowing up the digits he probes between her slick folds as his thumb continues to circle and caress. Every retreat of his fingers, two now, sends her gushing like an overripe peach, and he watches enraptured, licking his lips like he so badly wants to taste.
And because he has no sense at all for her state of mind, his mouth curls in a sinful smirk as he declares, "I'm going to eat you out this entire goddamn heat."
She blames the twist of his fingers, and his thumb that's found what he's looking for in the whimper she makes. Not that she's fooling anyone when she whines a second later, "You can't tell me that when you're still wearing way too many clothes."
"Well, you still smell like other people," he retorts, but the intensity in his eyes say that he intends to thoroughly fix that soon enough.
Whether it's with his scent or her own.
In answer, almost viciously he thrusts his fingers in harder as he leans close again to kiss her; mouth moving down to the hitch of her jaw, below the skin of her ear. "We'll fix that, won't we?"
Rukia's answering scream is muffled by a crash of thunder, her body rolling firm and unrelenting in time to it over his clothed dick, her toes curling as he shudders and sags against her.
When they both come down, still breathless and panting, Rukia notices, to her embarrassment, "I ruined your pants."
Ichigo gives her a look that's unrepentant, and with a roll of her eyes, she loops her near life-less arms around his neck and prods, "Ruin me instead."
At that, he huffs out a breath that's shocked before he's chuckling and pressing their foreheads together. "You're insatiable."
"You like me this way."
He hums, his eyes like honey as he presses a kiss to her forehead, impossibly sweet. "Let's get cleaned up."
Even though she'd been the one suggesting it earlier, Rukia intones, "Yes alpha."
That earns her a growl, and legs still unsteady post-orgasm or not, Ichigo stands to carry her again, sweeping her down the hall and into the bathroom.
She shivers as he presses her against the cool tile, and watches with half-lidded eyes as he steps away.
Gasping a little in surprise as he turns the rain shower on, the cool water gradually warming around her beneath its spray, she watches him slip off his shirt – biceps, pectorals, and abdomen flexing and pulling deliciously before he reaches for his belt.
The sound if it coming undone is louder than a gunshot, and Rukia finds herself enamored by the way the leather snaps out of the loops of his jeans, how Ichigo's skin is a shade or two paler beneath his boxers than the rest of him; how even soft, the sight of his cock makes something in her ache.
The water is perfect, and he beckons her beneath it with an offered hand.
Rukia sighs as he gathers her in his arms, nuzzling against his chest as the shower beats down on them gently from above. Beneath the water's spray, she peers up at him to find moisture clinging to his lashes, gathering in little puddles in the divots of his collarbone before trailing trickling waterfalls down his chest, his abdomen. Between his legs, his cock twitches under her attention.
She only lifts her head when his chuckle echoes along the wall, and then he's drawing her in to kiss her.
It's nothing like their kisses earlier – this is exploring, undemanding – there are fewer teeth, less claim, no rush – Ichigo sucks on her tongue as his hands mold themselves along her neck, cupping her scalp and sliding his fingers through her hair before he traces the bumps of her spine, the softness of her hips before squeezing at her ass.
They stand there for what might be hours, or minutes; who's to say?
In this room there's nothing but them; their quiet murmurs and soft laughs as they read the braille of each other's bodies; washing away everything of the outside world that isn't the other.
Eventually, Ichigo rouses enough to turn Rukia gently to the wall. To give her hair a cursory wash, to soothe the still-tense muscles of her shoulders, to mold his hands against the pliant clay of her breasts and her abdomen; her hips, her thighs.
His hands are warm and familiar, and they play her body's pleasure as if it's all its made for.
Rukia doesn't realize she's moaning and fucking into his hand between her legs until her head is thrown back on Ichigo's shoulder, begging over the rush in her ears and the water falling around them for more, more please Ichigo…
The steam from their shower has made the room humid, and Rukia feels more like a mirage than an actual person with nothing but her ecstasy and Ichigo to say she even exists at all.
And he does.
The reminder he's taken up like an oath.
Her name from his tongue is profane and covetous at once.
As he presses her gently into tiles. As he spreads her legs and hitches her thighs, and sheathes himself full and hot and thick she feels fit to burst.
The thrum of it, the push and pull of them together is seamless; from affectionate and intimate to breathlessly ravenous, they're consumed by the other until there's nothing to separate their souls but the water on their skins.
A/n: This story is almost at 50k and I can't fucking believe it. It's been less than a month since I started writing this story, what the fuck.
