Big thanks to my newfound friend, Amelia, for encouraging me to write this story and giving me some writing tips. :)
xxx
Hitsugaya doesn't have alcohol in his system tonight, but he's in a drunken stupor from Hinamori's urgent lips and soft limbs.
He cannot remember anymore how they ended up molded like this in his quarters, a world's away from Karakura where her captain is having his birthday celebration. Frankly, he doesn't give a damn, not when he also can't distinguish where his hands stop and where her skin starts covering him. Her hair is splayed across his bed, and they look like the night velvet sky devoid of stars. The ember nothingness doesn't scare him; he'd rather indulge in its weightlessness. Yet her embrace is an anchor to his sheets. He doesn't have the strength or the urge to pull away. He's locked in the compulsion of the spell Momo so effortlessly conjured.
When they finally come up for air — he finally sees all of her.
Clad in moonshine, Momo glows.
Swollen mouth, rose cheeks, eyes unfocused but burning. The ribbon she wore around her hair discarded on the edge of the mattress. Her buttoned corset top is almost undone, allowing him a peek of her breast but betraying how painfully erect her nipples are through the fabric (he faintly recalls biting the strings with his teeth on the dark alley). Her skirt is hiked all the way up to her thighs, and by some miracle, he is able to stop pouncing on her again when he catches an outline of lace trimmings.
Turns out he wasn't the only one who grew up.
He knows girls like to dress for themselves, but it would irk him so bad when he finds out she actually had someone in mind. There's the overwhelming feeling that always tethers him beyond the border of rationality, and then there's the crashing guilt of witnessing all of this.
Hinamori is beautiful under him, her body squirming to get back to his heated orbit, but the possibility bothers him that this could be a sight not intended for him.
He might just have happened to stumble at the right place, at the right time.
He's just taking advantage of her, of this luck, of this illusion that she wants this just as much as he wants it. Despite his desperation to dive back into the waves of her touch, he couldn't. For now, he lets his lungs hurt from inhaling reality.
xxx
There's an earthquake inside her head. It takes a few moments before Momo registers it as the sunlight glaring through a window. On rare days, she hates mornings. She'd rather stay asleep in the cocoon of Hitsugaya's smell.
She memorizes this smell — clean, mint, and bamboo. It's his favorite combination of scents; he once pointed this out to her when they went for a grocery run together. She knew the brand before he could even name it. How else could she keep smelling him when he's away?
When she reaches out for her tumbler, that's when the layout disorients her. Morning sunlight doesn't reach her room because it faces the backyard with the dense foliage.
Nothing is where they should be. These are not her sheets. These are not her clothes. She's not in her room.
She's in Hitsugaya's.
"Shit," she curses under her breath. She quickly checks again under the sheets.
The weird mix of embarrassment, relief, and anxiety is currently assaulting her senses. She still has her clothes on from last night which she had Renji to thank for. This was apparently the right combination for chic and seductive in human world standards and the wrong match for her personal comfort, but none of those worked to make Hitsugaya glance at her.
In fact, as much as she recalled vividly, he made it a point to avoid her advances, and by advances, her intense stares as she gulped down glasses after glasses of liquid courage. Well, it only took four, and she effectively blacked out.
Bits of memories float through her mind, but making sense of them right now is only worsening her headache. What she is certain of is that she lost the one rare chance of confessing her feelings to him. and instead wasted it on making a mess of herself in his presence last night.
She doesn't need confirmation.
Not when he left early for a reconnaissance mission with Byakuya without waiting for her to recover. The only evidence of care is a breakfast full of her favorites on his dining table and a thermos of osmanthus. No note tucked under. No remnants of his warmth she thinks is reserved for her.
She makes herself acquainted with the food, hoping against hope, knowing that this is only a mere display of familiar years and not of passion. She indulges herself with the illusion nonetheless, moving around his space and filling his shadows with hers, as if they exist together.
And then she rids his room of herself.
Makes herself sparse.
Until the space forgets.
xxx
Hitsugaya is stumped. Well, what did he really expect? He was gone for a mission with Byakuya (conveniently enough). Did he hope to come back to Momo living in his quarters?
Of course not.
Of course she's actively avoiding him.
No eye contact during assemblies. A spare staff for the coordination paperworks. Sudden disappearance during his division visits. Silent treatment. How could she? And more importantly, why is it that he finds himself unable to breathe, unable to think, unable to stop glancing every time an auburn hair looks a little too familiar. After throwing herself on him that night and pushing him to the brink of his self-control, no less.
How could she act so naive and leave him hanging clueless and wanting for more?
As if it's so easy to return to his bed and not think of her body splayed on his sheets, moaning his name, and surrendering fully to him. Or the phantom touches he gets in the middle of the night as her fingers ghost across his skin. The wanton craving of the feel of her lips against his.
These impulses, compulsions, have become so bad he indulged in sinning, pulsing his hand against his member as he imagines her face peering up at him in a plea.
He wants to hate her, if only he loved her less.
Perhaps fate itself got tired of this back and forth nonsense spanning decades of pining with nowhere to go.
It acted through Rangiku and Hirako — two devil spawns who camouflage as his angels right at this moment when Momo walks through the door, the start of a long winding rant already at the tip of her tongue, expecting her marmelade friend behind the door.
The words die when her eyes meet his teal irises. He wonders what expression he has on right now — cold, indifferent, angry, annoyed, or…. hungry?
"We need to talk." It's not the tone he's going for. He sounds rough.
"Hitsugaya-taichou." His government name. "I was instructed by Captain Shinji to give you these documents." She takes several long strides and dumps the paperwork on his desk.
He stands and she flinches. "We need to talk." She acts as if he's cold enough to burn her with one touch.
"Is there another pressing matter, Hitsugaya-taichou?" She feigns innocence. Momo, he learned since they were young, has always been adept in using her smile to an absolute advantage.
He takes a step forward and she takes two steps back. He doesn't give a reply until she finally reaches the door and her heel accidentally closes it.
He watches, in close proximity, how her eyes jump in alarm. It's fascinating how her throat bobs up and down when he extends his arm and locks the door for privacy.
"Why are you avoiding me?" Conscious of her, conscious of everything, he switches tone, the soft, gentle voice that almost feels like a caress. Only him could hear the desperation behind that cadence. A question he needed an answer to because frankly enough, he's so close to breaking.
"Why are you avoiding me?" She throws back the question with smile and spite.
"Excuse me?"
"You ghosted me." There's emphasis on the second word, and from then on, all his rational thoughts flew away. "Disappeared. Left without a note. Couldn't even talk to me the day you got back."
"It was a mission, Hinamori." Yes, he throws it right back at her too.
"Hinamori?"
He racks his fingers through his silver strands."The meetings got so crazy after, okay. I tried to talk to you, but you wouldn't even let me."
"Was I too much of a mess that night that you don't want me anymore?" The smile disappears, replaced by a soft voice, so much so that she shrinks in front of him.
Some years ago, he grew taller than her but only by a few inches. Now, it's as if he's looming over her, and he can see straight through her fringes, her lashes wet against her lids, a glimpse of her hidden fears.
She manages to croak after his lengthy stunned silence, "Want as in like a friend."
Hitsugaya back tracks through his recent memories, and it finally clicks. "Huh."
"What?" she cracks.
He manages to ask."You don't remember, do you?"
"I didn't puke on you, did I?"
He shakes his head slowly.
"Is it more embarrassing than that?"
"It's not embarrassing per se, but…."
"Oh my god." She places her head in her hands. "Please just out with it."
He takes a step closer, invading her personal space. At this distance, he becomes heady with her scent. He inhales her with every word. "Do you want to remember?"
Ever so slowly, she looks up at him and realizes the predicament she's in.
Momo's adrenaline kicks in, but her futile attempt to escape fizzles out when he has her caged between the door and his arms. He dips his head, a little too close for her comfort.
"Say yes, Momo." It's supposed to be laced with mirth and he should be smirking, but there's nothing funny about resisting the feral urge to touch, capture, and claim.
A bloom of color rushes to her cheeks. Despite this, she acquiesces with a single nod.
It's true.
He could burn her with his touch.
Shivers visibly run across her skin as he cups the side of her face and lowers his head to meet her waiting lips. Far from what transpired that night when a crashing, sloppy kiss turned into wildfire, this one starts out slow and tentative, like sunshine dipping into the cold, icy waters.
"Shiro," She sighs against his mouth — a sigh that mirrors his own, a sigh of pent up longing finally finding relief, a sigh of happiness.
She burns him with her touch, and he melts.
Hitsugaya thinks he's losing his mind. If he fell asleep in the middle of paperworks, may he never wake up. He's content to live out the rest of his days indulging in her taste. "Do you know how much I wanted this?"
He takes her aback, surprise vivid in her half-opened eyes. She tries to focus on a reply. "So why couldn't you look at me that night?"
He's like a deer caught in the headlights as the realization sinks upon him. "That was for me?"
"Who else but you?" When he thought it couldn't get any better, Momo's hands clasp around his neck and bring him lower, closer, to her so she could finally open her mouth and bring him inside. There, his tongue is met with hers, and it doesn't take long before they engage in a feud of sorts, tangling and untangling in knots, in a red string of fate and lust and love. "It has always been you Shiro."
His arms leave the door and settle comfortably on Momo's waist. "This is so stupid, and I kept on holding back. You were so drunk I thought you got the wrong guy."
The distance, no matter how small, is killing him. He needs to sink into her skin, feel her writhe under him.
She perfectly fits into his every nook and cranny, her hands everywhere on his body, pulling him just as closer, the friction too unbearable. "Don't hold back this time then."
It ignites something in him akin to wildfire finally spreading on glacial lands. One of his hands find the back of her neck and fixes the angle to deepen the kiss. He hears her moan, and his leg jerks to where her core is, wet against the fabric. He mimics the same guttural sound at the contact.
His lips shift to her neck, drinking her pulse in, relishing his effect on her. There he leaves the first of his many marks. His hand travels to her chest where her breasts are waiting.
"Touch them Shiro. They're so sore." He doesn't need anymore prodding, his fingers quick to heed the call and slip into her robe, gliding across the soft velvet of her skin, and finding one perked nipple. He traps it in between his fingers, alternating between pinching and rubbing, until Momo's legs give way under her.
He plans to follow her on the floor and replace his fingers with his mouth, see her, feel her come undone on his office floor —
"Hitsugaya! Oy, can you hear me?"
Both of them go frigid, suddenly hyper aware of what little clothes they have on and how flushed their skin are. Momo uncharacteristically lets out a string of curses when she registers Renji's voice.
"Are you all right? Been hearing lots of things falling down there."
Hitsugaya is trying to make something fall down there — and fast. For this to work, he needs to look away first from Momo and her swollen lips. Goddamn. He wanted to devour her so bad.
"Just so you know, we're not done," he whispers, letting his eyes trail over her body.
"Good," Momo straightens herself, also doing futile efforts to come off unaffected, "I expect more."
xxx
She did say she expected more. She also had a lineup of excuses prepared for tonight. She forgot something in his office. There is an urgent document. He's her friend so why can't she visit? Or ask him out for dinner? No, she would not let the momentum thaw itself out again. If he's available, he will be available.
But what if he's regretting all of it? It might just have been a spur of the moment thing. He's probably embarrassed about it now. What if he thinks they should stop — they're friends. Friends don't do that…. And how does one exactly pick up from where they left off?
The doubts fall away from Momo's mind when the room to his quarters open, revealing a scowling Hitsugaya in off duty clothes — a white shirt and jeans.
"Oh did I catch you at a bad time? You look like you're going to the human world."
It's a stupid question to ask, considering she dressed exactly like how she dressed that night. That gaudy corset top feigning innocence and the skirt that hugs her legs. He hurriedly grabs hold of her wrist and pulls her inside, figuring into the same position they were in earlier, her back against the door and his arms cradling her waist.
"What took you so long? I've been waiting." He dips his head and sears her with a kiss.
Momo moans. Oh god, how could she make such a noise? She opens up to him in hunger, missing his taste on her tongue, his scent penetrating all of her senses. He leaves her orbit just as quickly he swooped in, and the sudden absence feels like a punch to the gut.
Hitsugaya treads his way to the edge of his bed and takes off his shirt. He pats the space beside him. "Come here Momo."
She finds his lap more welcoming, and she weaves against his limbs, winding her arms around his neck as she reunites their lips and settling right where his covered cock hits her wetness. She relishes the sight of his teal eyes widening, then finally narrowing.
"How dare you go commando," he complains.
"I want to make it convenient for you." Her mouth seeks for him again, and she pushes herself closer to him again to the point where friction becomes too unbearable, too hot against his coldness.
He pulls apart her skirt, leaving her bare to his thrusts. She notices how painfully hard he is down there. "I want to touch you Shiro."
He guides her hand down there, and her fingers close in on the bulge. With a life of their own, they unzip his pants and quickly free him from the painful fabric. It springs to life, pulsating, and becoming bigger by the second.
"You're so big." She adjusts herself until her wet slit is able to rub along his length. The sensation of her juices pouring on him sends her reeling.
"It's because of you. Can't stop thinking about you." Hitsugaya peppers the side of her neck with kisses as his hands become too preoccupied with her corset. She senses his impatience at every tug and every sustained guttural moan. "You could have picked an easier top."
"I borrowed it from Rangiku."
"Tell her you lost it."
The fabric rips apart from his ministrations, and Momo wishes she gives a damn. She's so into it — his voice, his pants, the tension in his muscles — all of these is because of her. How have they not indulged in this sweetest ecstasy sooner?
It merely isn't enough.
She wants more. She wants all of him. Feel all of him. On her, inside her, with her. She wants to be owned by him. Railed. Possessed. Become one.
"Fuck me Shiro."
He throws all of her weight on the center of his bed as he undresses. He looks beautiful, the way the moonlight hits his back and his face, placing a glint of hunger in those arresting eyes of his. She forgets how to breathe when he takes her in. His eyes on her breasts as he shrugs out of his shirt. On her thighs as he throws away his pants. He's beautiful and he's all hers. She would never share this sight with anyone.
The shame from nakedness fading away and overtaken by zealousness and pride, Momo shakenly traces the plane of his stomach with a finger and ends on the tip of his cock dripping with precum.
Hitsugaya turns feral. His hands chain her wrists on the sheets as his mouth captures one nipple after the other. His tongue swirling circles and his teeth grazing until they become numb, all the while building a pool of heat in the center of her core.
"So fucking beautiful." "I want you so much." "I need to have you." He whispers over and over until he arrives at her navel where his tongue slips out and licks the sensitive parts of her skin.
"Shiro, what are you doing?" She tries to move away but his hold on her waist pins her on the spot. He shakes his head and licks her navel again, going lower this time. "What are you doing to me?"
"I'm making you feel good."
"Shiro — I don't know what this is. I'm having trouble breathing."
"Sssh. Just let go, Momo. Let me take care of you." Then he slides a finger across her cunt.
She comes apart with just that move, writhing uncontrollably and ceaselessly as if every muscle isn't her own. She's under his mercy; he never stops when she shouts a string of every iteration of no, his mouth travels lower to meet with his scissoring fingers now already inside her core.
When his tongue finally finds her clit, she reaches oblivion again. Nails haphazardly scratching his back and pulling his hair. Legs tightening around his neck. She rides it out — half angry, half curious how her body could react like this to him, sober.
"Been wondering a long time how you taste. So sweet. I can't get enough of you."
Momo struggles to find her voice as she comes down from the high. "Shiro, please. I want to make you feel good too."
She tastes herself on his tongue when he comes back up. Her legs are still shaking, but he holds them up as he rubs his member against her entrance.
"I've heard it might be painful the first time." He smooths the stray strands that clung on her cheek, already matted by sweat. "You're wet enough so it should be okay. Tell me if you want to stop, all right?"
"It's fine," she wraps her arms around his neck, feeling him enter slowly, filling her walls with his length. "It's fine if it's you Shiro. Just hold me."
Momo feels nothing and everything at the same time, the pain receding to a rhythm that reminds her of the sea, the many decades of yearning reduced into this penultimate moment of drowning, of crashing sounds of bodies and hearts and souls, muffled against her own unbecoming. She makes out her name on Hitsugaya's lips as he fully enters her. He says it over and over like a prayer for worship for every thrust deeper into her core.
She latches onto him tighter, afraid this is all a dream, that he might disappear the moment she lets go. She leaves kisses on his neck, on his shoulders, on his lips, moaning his name right back, letting him know that she wants this, wants him, loves him so much.
"I love you."
The words spill out like the gathering tears in her eyes, and the confession becomes the one catalyst that pushes both of them off the cliff. The flying feels like falling.
Momo loses track of time. She doesn't know how many minutes it took before every feeling stopped being too much. Her eyes turn to her side, finding herself nestled against Hitsugaya's chest, a smile playing on his lips.
"You look happy." Gods, her voice sounds so hoarse. She must have screamed a lot.
"I am happy." He closes in for a hug, his chin softly resting on the crown of her head. Right here feels like home, Momo surmises. " How could I not, when you told me you love me?"
"I do." The weight is gone from her chest; it dropped the moment she came with him. The burden of hiding is gone, yearning to the point where everyone can see but him. Her heart, which she has always been wearing in her sleeve, is now in his hands to break or bury or —
"I'm so happy," he echoes into the night, "I've loved you for a long time."
— or exchange for his.
"I love you Momo." He kisses the top of her head, her forehead, the corners of her eyes where tears started to fall again, the tip of her nose, her lips. "So many nights I dreamt of you in this bed, kissing you, making love to you. Now you're mine just as much as I am yours."
She clutches on to his arms as she returns his kisses, traversing the same paths on his face like constellations, committing the afterglow in her memory.
"Tell me Shiro, tell me I'm the only one."
His face contorts in defiance. "You don't think that was my first time?"
She shrugs, the blush creeping into her cheeks as her insecurities slip through. "You seem so….experienced."
He hugs her again, unwilling to let her escape. "Of course, I practiced many times with you in my head. How I would take you, which places, those kinds of things."
"Pervert," she scoffs.
He laughs nervously and racks his silver tresses with his hand. "Okay, maybe I fell into the trap with that one."
"Show me then."
Hitsugaya stares at her, dumbfounded at this unusual side, but he couldn't deny her anything. Not when he has so much more to give.
And so they memorize each other again, navigators familiarizing themselves with their maps, their north stars, until moonlight washes into the break of dawn and sunshine finally peeks through the velvet night sky.
xxx
Okay, so how did I do? Looking forward to your comments/reviews! You can find me on Twitter/Tumblr as pinkhairedlily.