How Good You Look to Me
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Part I
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Ichigo hates the rain. Not just because of the bad memories it brings back but also because it washes away scent blockers.
In a multibillion dollar business corporation like SS it's considered good etiquette for all employees to cover their scents, be it alpha, beta or omega. It's the polite thing to do and it certainly wouldn't do to offend their esteemed customers or colleagues, some more sensitive than others.
The rain though takes the option right out of their hands, and right now, it shows no signs of stopping. A flash of lightning and the distant rumble of thunder follows.
Ichigo wrinkles his nose, seeing the huddled bodies make a beeline for the elevators. The masses are back from their lunch, ready to fuel the engines and keep a big corporation like this running. Most of them have been caught off guard by the sudden torrent of rain and it shows.
He doesn't understand how anyone can keep a straight face as the miasmic plumes of scents assault the senses. There is a stocky giant standing at the right back, built like a muscleman who definitely looks like someone who can bench press his own weight. Ichigo gives him a casual onceover. He can't keep eye contact for long before he has to resist the urge to gag. He smells like week-old gym socks and mouldy cheese; an alpha who probably works Security.
Further in front there's a mousey girl, her brown hair in a bun- crisp business suit ironed and tailored. Probably works in the Accountings and judging by her scent, a beta. It's sweet and citrusy but also with a dash of fire, something alcoholic like coffee liqueur- not unpleasant; scents are subjective of course and Ichigo has no doubt that she might smell absolutely divine to someone else, but something about the combination smells off to him.
"Going up?" she asks him.
Ichigo shakes his head, points to his half-finished espresso.
"Thanks but I'll pass. I'll catch the next one."
He keeps to the shadows under the guise of drinking his coffee, waiting until the very last of the stranglers pile into the elevator and it departs without him.
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Ding!
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Ichigo heaves a sigh of relief stepping into an empty elevator, giving himself a pat on the shoulders. Another bullet dodged. This is much better, away from the crowds and mixture of scents- he can finally breathe!
Today will be another productive day at work; he can feel it in his bones.
He needs to go to the fourth floor first, no-
He stills, changing his mind as he presses the button for sixth floor instead. The Marketing Department, he decides; there's still something that he needs to double check with Renji about Project Las Noches—
"Wait, hold the door!"
His gaze shifts to the elevator doors. There's a woman hurtling towards him. Her stringy black hair is damp and she is soaked to the skin with her dress and blazer clinging to her. There's a decision to be made: how much of his personal comfort is he willing to sacrifice for the sake of being a Good Samaritan.
He knows her he thinks- in passing of course, maybe in the cafeteria during lunch or the company's annual Christmas dinner. He can't be sure; for one thing names always elude him.
But those violet eyes—
He bites the inside of his cheek. He has definitely seen them from somewhere. He just can't remember where but it doesn't matter.
The last thing he wants to do is to offend her and behave like an asshole when they work in the same building. After all, he reasons to himself as he holds the door and lets her in- you never quite know when you have to call in a favour and word gets around in this place.
People talk.
The worst she can do is bore him with idle chatter and maybe for him to suffer a tense few minutes of awkward silence or an unpleasant odour. A small price to pay really.
Of course, no good deed goes unpunished.
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And he knows it the minute she sets foot into the enclosed space.
The squelch of her wet shoes is loud and embarrassing as she hurries in and mutters her thanks. Their eyes meet as she flashes him a sheepish smile at being caught in such a state. She leans over to press on the row of buttons next to him.
He moves away a second too late.
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Oh!
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He stiffens. His nostrils flare and he can feel heat settling to the pit of his stomach.
The rain- the rain is a menace and the bane of his existence. It washed away the very last traces of her scent blocker. Her perfume and the smell of her shampoo- they do nothing to dampen or disguise her natural scent.
She smells so good!
Beyond the scent of geranium rose and lavender- sweet but not cloying, her heart note sings to him like a siren's song. She smells like home- lazy Sunday mornings with the warmth of the sun on his face, his childhood blanket, the smell of the earth just after summer rain. He feels a chill running down his spine, his hair standing on end from the frosty breath of winter and fresh snow on his skin as he breathes more of her in.
She is powerful. The salty sea breeze, raven-dark hair whipping furiously in the wind, flashes of lightning across dark skies. The look in her eyes reminds him of the stormy sea- unyielding and untameable. She may be giving and compassionate when it suits her to be, but an ocean has no master- her true nature dictates that will heed the prayers of no man as she does what she pleases.
He has a vision of her in bed; naked as the day she was born and every bit as loud as she rides him, wanton and unhinged, drawing sighs and groans from him as he tends to her pleasure. Their scents- different, unique- mingling and converging from a heady mixture of sweat, musk and slick into something else as the scents layer on top of each other, complementing and blending well. He wants to hide in her, to make a home in her warmth and keep her warm.
He gulps- digs his fingernails hard into the flesh of his palm as his vision tunnels to the patch of unmarked skin by the side of her neck. The sight draws him in like chocolate- rich, velvety smooth, filled with liqueur and strawberry cream at the centre. He wants to sink his teeth into her.
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Mine!
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Her scent builds and fills up the breathing space between them. He tugs at his collar, loosening his tie. It's getting harder to breathe. Every whiff of her is temptation and it certainly isn't helped by the fact that they are the only two in the enclosed space.
She is intoxicating and it's driving him mad standing so close to her and yet unable to touch. He grits his teeth, viciously quelling the growl coming from the back of his throat.
He clamps a hand to his nose and mouth, trying hard to keep calm and behave normally as though he isn't on the verge of devolving into his baser urges, like they aren't standing less than three steps apart from each other and he isn't dying to press himself against her and mark her for himself. His inner voice is whiny, frustrated by his inaction.
Why would he ignore age-old instincts when he knows he can make her feel so good?
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Go to her! Please her! Mate!
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Ichigo scoffs, balking against the voice. He doesn't even know her name!
He is not a creep and he will not be a slave to his biological urges. Mankind has come a long way since then.
They've invented scent blockers, came up with hormone pills to regulate the female heat cycle and there are toys. Someto take the knot, others to mimic one; man-made lubricants made to resemble the richness and taste of slick- all to simulate the feel and presence of a willing mate without having to rely on another person to see them through the heat.
He is not a product of his designation and it shouldn't be used as an excuse for him to behave like a rabid sex-crazed felon. He can't give in. He is much stronger than that.
It's nothing, he tells himself; he just has to make it past two more floors. She's leaving on the fourth floor. He can last a little longer. It's just two more floors.
He repeats it like a mantra in his head and it lasts… admirably for the first twenty seconds or so.
"Are you okay?"
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Shit!
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The sound of her voice almost breaks him. He half-turns towards her and makes the mistake of looking into her eyes.
He pales, mouth suddenly dry.
Her eyes are hypnotic pools of amethyst and cobalt blue. He's drowning in them and embarrassingly, feels himself growing hard as he keeps her stare. He shifts, trying to keep his arousal out of sight.
Her eyebrows are furrowed in concern as they take in his flushed cheeks and glazed eyes. She reaches out for him and he immediately bats her hand away, making her jump. His inner voice is aghast, furiously chastising him for what he has done when he spies the deep frown and the narrowing of her eyes.
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No! Bad move! Apologize now!
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Ichigo shudders, trying to shake off the influence. This is for the best. If this is him now, there's no telling what he'll do or how his body will react to the touch of her hand on his feverish skin.
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Stop that!
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The extent of his depravity- he doesn't want to know or find out, not when the urge to make claim and please is already wreaking havoc on his sanity. His mind is playing out fantasies- what he'll do to her in the privacy of his bedroom, how he will position her to take his knot, how pleased she will be with him. He is going to fill her up with so much come that she isn't going to walk straight or think about leaving the bed until the heat runs its course.
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Ding!
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His eyes widen at the announcement overhead.
Third floor!
Thank God for small favours!
Fuck it! He is taking the stairs!
The minute the elevator doors open, he is sprinting towards the exit like his very life depended on it. And he doesn't stop until he is behind the doors of the stairwell, heavily panting as he drops to his knees, gasping for air.
He is drenched in sweat; his long-sleeved shirt is plastered on to him, making him feel constricted. He rips off his tie, feeling flushed and tingled warm all over. The patch of skin by the side of his neck burns. His glands feel swollen.
Even with this distance between them, the chemical smell of cleaning products wafting through the air, he can still smell her.
His hands are shaking and he is still painfully hard. His inner voice is whining, thoroughly annoyed, hissing at him, urging him to go back to tend to their potential mate and spend their heat with her.
It hits him now just how bad his situation is turning out to be.
He's going into heat, barely minutes after getting into an enclosed space with a nameless stranger.
He is about to spend the next few days stuck in a mindless rutting haze, ruled by his baser urges to fuck and mate, fuelled with nothing but libido and lust. Forget work, he will be lucky if he has the presence of mind to even feed himself!
Ichigo curses as he pinches the bridge of his nose. The timing is shitty. There's still so much work to be done and the board meeting is next week. As lead financial analyst, he's been spending the better half of last year running numbers on the acquisition of Las Noches, analysing its risk to profit ratio.
He clicks his tongue. It can't be helped. He still has his mandatory, government-standardised heat leave and this is the perfect time to take it. He makes a decision to call in a favour from Renji later to retrieve anything work related and have him drop it off for him.
He can call that pineapple head and he will do it later- once he is out of the building.
For now he has his wallet, his keys and he is getting the hell out of here!
With enough distance from that woman who smells like heaven and sin- his wet dream come true, maybe he can regain enough of his sanity and remember how to drive or where he lives.
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"What a weirdo!"
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Her head has been throbbing since she woke up this morning.
From stress, from exhaustion or maybe a little of both. Ibuprofen isn't even touching it and that sets the tone for her day.
It's not always easy being an alpha female in the business world of corporate finance that has traditionally always been and still is being dominated by old boys' club and alpha males- more commonly known as assholes who think that the world should revolve around them.
It certainly wouldn't be the first time one of the assholes tried to sabotage her work, trying to make her look bad and under-prepared while swooping in to rescue the day. To think that a Junior Associate- someone from her own team even, would stage something like this.
She snorts.
The runt is a million years too early. She has come a long way to make her rise to the top. She is an Associate now, team leader for the Asia division and she'll bring hell to any alpha male out there who thinks they can walk all over her and steal her credit just because of her sex.
Say it loud and say it proud, Rukia Kuchiki eats misogynistic pricks for breakfast!
She deserves that two-hour lunch at Urahara's for finally putting the asshole firmly into place and to reward herself for all the hard work she put into the past year. Her efforts show and bear fruit as once again, the Asian investments are doing well and in the lead in terms of profit turnover.
She doesn't ask for a lot. All those sleepless nights and countless hours of her hunched over her computer running the codes and squinting at the numbers—
She has earned herself a break!
Too bad the weather disagrees.
Just as Rukia sets foot outside the restaurant, it begins to pour and predictably, she never brought her umbrella with her. She is drenched, runs into the office building with a wet puddle underfoot, dogging her every step.
But that's just the beginning of the strangeness trailing after her at work today.
She shared an elevator with the strangest and rudest man she has ever had the misfortune of knowing. The asshole was breathing so heavily that she thought he was having a panic attack, but when she tried to help him- the jerk slapped her hand away!
The nerve of him!
She was only trying to help, concerned about a fellow human being!
Rukia scoffs as she remembers the shade of his bright orange hair. He could give Renji- her childhood best friend since diapers and also colleague from the Marketing and Communications team- a run for his money.
Speaking of which- she frowns; some friend he turns out to be.
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"Rukia! I need a favour!"
Rukia folds her arms and quirks an eyebrow as she stands by the door to his office, looking unimpressed.
"Gee, not even a 'Hi Rukia! How was your day?' or 'You look like you could do with a cup of coffee!' from you. I feel so loved. Sure, Renji, I would love to do you a favour," she grumbles sarcastically, throwing the empty paper cup into the waste bin.
"Sorry."
Renji at least has the decency to appear embarrassed as he sorts through the gigantic amount of paperwork lying on his table. His table is a mess- a clutter of pens and other stationaries littered haphazardly across folders and files, work documents and yellow post-its, his laptop and blank sheets of paper.
She tuts, shaking her head in disbelief, "how can you even work in this mess?"
"Hey! Don't look at me like that! It's not always like this. We're just on a time crunch right now. There's a presentation due tomorrow for one of the projects and we are nowhere near done."
Rukia rolls her eyes in response, helping herself into a chair. Trust Renji to be dramatic.
"—which leads me to calling in a favour."
Renji pulls out an enormous work folder from the shelf behind him. It lands solidly with enough thunk! to make the table shake.
"I need you to drop this off for a friend. I can whatsapp you his address in a sec, but he says it's urgent. Normally, I wouldn't dream of troubling you with this but I am desperate and it looks like it's going to be an all-nighter for me."
The mass bundle of paper looks thick and compact. Rukia narrows her eyes. Her arms might break if she has to lug this monster with her.
"Haven't either of you heard of Google Drive or this marvellous invention called email?"
Renji throws his hands up defensively. "That's what I suggested in the first place! But Ichigo insisted that he wanted the paper copies- all of them and I do owe him."
"Ichigo?" she smirks, poking fun at him. The two of them are close enough that Renji knows not to take her jibes too seriously. "With that sort of name, no wonder you two are friends. Between the two of you, there's clearly a fruit theme going on, pineapple head!"
Renji ignores her in favour of fiddling on his phone. A second later—
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Ping!
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Rukia glances down at the new message showing on her phone.
"I just sent you Ichigo's address and his phone number," he says, "please say you'll do it!"
"That would depend," she frowns, "is he going to be offended by an alpha female?"
Birds of a feather flock together. Alpha males are no exception to the rule, albeit to a lesser extent due to their competitive and territorial nature. Renji is alright but that doesn't necessarily mean his friends are. She has had a long day and the last thing she needs is to waste her time dealing with another misogynistic asshole.
"Ichigo?" Renji laughs, "No way! He's an alpha but he is pretty chill. Tacks on the 'please' and 'thank you' in abundance."
Rukia rolls her eyes.
"That doesn't prove anything! That's just called being a nice person. It's basic courtesy."
The redhead shrugs.
"He's not an asshole. He's cool, doesn't react much to omegas or their scents- almost like a beta in that aspect. I watched him full-on deck another alpha for sniffing after an uninterested omega once. Probably has an omega for a sister or something. And if that's not good enough—" Renji grins "—he has yours truly's personal endorsement. Seriously if he gives you any shit, just let me know and I'll sort him right out."
Her frown stays but at the reassurance from Renji, she gives in.
"You're lucky that place is on my way home."
She sighs, pocketing her phone before telling Renji to load the heavy folder into her car. There is no way she will be able to make it out of the office doors with them.
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Ichigo didn't pick up her calls.
After the fifth one she is more than a little justified in her concern, more so when the door to the apartment swings open with a twist of the door handle.
She gnaws at her lips, hesitating. Visiting as a guest means to bring a foreign scent into the host's territory. It can be invasive and if the scent is disagreeable to the host, an outright challenge. Seeing as to how both she and Ichigo are alphas, Rukia doesn't want to intrude or be mistaken for a trespasser. She doesn't mind a confrontation but not over something so petty.
Yet, on the other hand, what if Ichigo had somehow banged his head or passed out in his apartment? Renji said the man had to leave work early because he wasn't feeling well. Rukia wouldn't want his death to be on her conscience.
"Hello?" she calls out tentatively.
She pushes the door open and makes her way in. She tells herself that she is just there to make sure he's alright then she will be more than happy to hop into her car and be on her way home.
The whiff of musk permeating through the apartment stops her in her tracks, compelling her to inhale, to keep breathing in that scent and let it wash over her.
She smells clean linen, freshly-laundered clothes, vanilla and almond, ink and freshly-cut parchments, leather-bound journals but with a hint of something like her favourite copy of Pride and Prejudice, dog-eared and much loved, taken from the Kuchiki library when she left for the city. There's a bittersweet and aching after-smell lingering behind the spicy sweet.
Like a rainy day, she decides but in the comforts of her own home- dry and indoors as the rain pelts against the window glass, pouring down on the pedestrians out and about. The sound of rainfall- soft and lulling calms her racing thoughts. There is contentment as she lies curled up in bed with a pair of strong arms, warm hands holding onto her, breathing in her scent as deeply as she would his.
Time stands still and for a moment, she is loved. Those arms, the lingering body heat- those are hers. She chokes—
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Find me.
Home! Mate!
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Ichigo.
She will make him hers.
She has to find him- that man with that delicious smell and she will make him stay. She can't bear to leave him sad and aching.
She will provide for him. She will make him smile and chase away those stormy clouds until it's just the two of them basking in the sun, under the covers- warm and content, happily fed with kisses and touches the only way lovers can be.
Her pupils are blown wide as she wanders further into the apartment in a trance, locking the door behind her. She easily switches gears into predator mode, instincts that has her following the scent, drifting towards the part of the apartment that smells the strongest of him.
She is so hungry, desperate for the press of his lips against hers, the spread of her hands all over him- touching him, soothing him, claiming him—
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Oh!
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It's him- Ichigo! She found him!
She stops at the threshold of his bedroom door, holding onto the last vestiges of reason and sanity. Her fingers dig deep into the grains of the wood, torn between her desires and her morals. He smells every bit as mouth-wateringly good as she has ever imagined.
He looks different from the strange rude man from the elevator earlier before. For one thing, he is naked. His bright hair is wild and messy; his clothes- previously white and immaculate are wrinkled. There's a massive pile of dirty laundry and pillows on the floor- more of his scent that has her keening, desperate to reach out for him.
The sound of her voice alerts him to her presence as he stops humping against the pillow. The mess of body fluids- white and telling is splattered all over them as his cock- red, thick and swollen stands to attention.
She gasps. His naked form is beautiful- sculpted muscles, body lean and toned glistening with sweat, a trail of fine ginger hair marking the path to his cock. It meets her appreciative gaze, making her purr as he drops the pillow and begins to crawl towards her.
Their eyes meet.
She swallows. She should go. This isn't right. Neither of them is in the right state of mind. She is too affected by his scent and he is obviously in heat. He can't be responsible for himself or his actions.
She needs to go while she still can.
"P-Please!"
His eyes are a rich shade of toffee-brown- molten heat that fuels her insanity. His whimpers are so needy, so desperate for her. She can feel her heart thundering, her panties getting damp as he pumps, touching and pleasuring himself, seemingly unaware of her arousal.
She can't-
She can't look away.
A healthy and virile mate- all to yourself, her mind coos.
He is hers to spoil and claim. Humans are civilised but this society that they inhabit isn't. The rule of the game: survival of the fittest; finders, keepers. Alphas keep their mates- they keep what they find.
For how long can she deny her nature and instincts?
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The door behind her shuts with a soft click.
The hazy eyes suddenly sharpened and then he is there, grabbing her by the hands, head nuzzling against her neck, kitten-licks on her neck, as he leads her to his nest.
They land with her on top, his length hard against the gap between her thighs. Her mouth goes dry as he pulls her flush to him, bares her his throat, pressing her hands against his chest.
She hisses at the touch of his burning skin, her hand recoiling in surprise. But Ichigo is too touch-starved to bear her rejection as he whimpers, softly crying as he hugs her tighter to his chest.
"A-Alpha," he whimpers, nudging at her with the tip of his nose, begging for her to take his cock into her hands, or even into her mouth, deeper even if she wants, "P-Please, I've been good. Let me knot in you. I-I-I promise, Alpha. I just want to make you feel good."
Society prides itself on the unwritten rules it establishes. Beyond the biology of male and female sex, designation determines the pecking order. Alphas are at the top of the hierarchy, betas maintain the status quo and omegas are the bottom-feeders.
As an alpha female, they shun her for upsetting the balance, for deviating from norm. But Rukia knows better than to hide her true nature. You see, designation is more than just a tick in the right box or the confidence game you play in front of a crowd. In the face of the scent and heat, there is no hiding.
Rukia Kuchiki has had a long tiring day and it ends with her stumbling upon a secret: Ichigo Kurosaki has been living a lie.
He is an omega male. And he is burning up for her.
Her eyes gleam predatorily as she takes his full length into her hand, pumping it, watching his eyes roll to the back of his head. He shudders, breath hitching as he bucks his hips at her, incoherent with lust, pleading for more.
The curse and groan of pleasure that falls from his lips is loud and obscene as she lazily swirls her tongue on the head, licking it from the base all the way to the tip. The smell of musk and salt from spent and sweat is heady on her tongue.
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Mine!
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"Let Alpha take care of you."
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Am I the only pervy one enough to kickstarts IR week with an E fic? *shrugs*
Rut: a recurrent period of sexual excitement and reproductive activity in certain male ruminants, such as the deer, that corresponds to the period of oestrus in females.
In this world, all male will rut and knot regardless of designation. Biological females do not grow a penis and biological males do not get pregnant. Heat is a neutral term for all sexes and designations.
That is all.