Title: Dandelion Fluff
Fandom: Bleach
Pairing: Ishida x Orihime
Rating:K+ for some sorta hot and heavy?
Warnings: Fluff!
Summary: Ishida is not fond of dandelions.
Disclaimer: I am not Kubo Tite, thus I do not own Bleach. I do not own these characters. I am only borrowing them for my own enjoyment.
Dedicated to Kia
Dandelions were weeds, as far as he was concerned. When they grew they were next to impossible to get rid of and they killed the grass. They propagated the species by sending innocuous seeming seeds decorated with white fluff into the air. The seeds got everywhere: into classrooms, homes, onto clothing, into the eyes and nose and mouth. They burned and itched and irritated the sinuses and made his eyes water. They tickled his nose in a most unpleasant sensation and made him sneeze uncontrollably. He'd even been unfortunate enough to have hundreds (this may have been an exaggeration) puffy seeds land in his lunch one day. He'd spent the rest of the day cursing the weeds as his stomach sang backup to his internal version of "Requiem for a Dandelion."
Needless to say he felt no love for the buttery yellow blooms that littered the normally uninterrupted sea of deep green grass in front of his school. And when the blooms began to change into the wispy white globes of seeds in preparation for seeding, the only notice Ishida paid them was to make sure he carried around a spare allergy pill and a handkerchief. And he privately counted down the days until the flowers would die and his nose would stop running.
And then it changed. The wind had been drifting lazily over the schoolyard, and thus the spores danced through the air in time with the breeze. Orihime, eyes lighting up at the sight, tugged on Ishida's hand.
"Ishida-kun! Look! It's like a snow globe! Someone shook our school!"
Ishida looked down at her fingers around his wrist, the touch of her skin on the thick tendons on the inside of his forearm sending a sharp jolt up his arm and into his brain. He waited to recover, following behind Orihime as she bolted into the fluffy air, squealing as she tried to catch the seeds. She dropped his wrist and moved around him, her smile brighter than the sun, her joy so innocent it tugged at his heart.
He reached for her, his movements impulsive, his touch incredibly light on her elbow. She looked at him, her brown eyes wide and laughing, lips turned up in the remains of her giggling. Without allowing himself to think he pulled her closer to him, his fingers feathering over the sensitive skin on the inside of her arm.
Her hair was wispy and wild, tangled with the breeze and sporting dozens of fluffy white seeds. Her barrettes caught the light of the sun, one spore angled so that the delicate white tendrils brushed over the petals of the clips.
His fingertips, callused and rough from his lifetime of training, slid up the inside of her arm, feeling the softness of her skin. He watched her expression change, saw the laughter die from her eyes to be replaced by something different. Her lids dropped slightly, hooding her gaze, yet she did not pull away. Encouraged he slid his fingers over her side to her back, pulling her closer to him until his felt the swell of her hip against his thigh, his fingers stretching to touch as much of her back as possible. His palm dipped into the curve between her shoulder blades, possessive yet light. His other hand, deciding it was bored merely hanging at his side, flicked a tendril of hair from her cheek, caressing the back of her ear as he tucked the strand back into place.
Her lips parted, her breath barely audible as she drew in a gasp of air. Her eyes closed more, her head tilting until her cheek pressed into his open palm. She reached up and her fingers wrapped around his wrist once more. The smoothness of her fingers sliding over his wrist made his lungs feel empty. He watched her cuddle his hand, a part of him wondering that she did not pull back from him. The part of him that was in control now was uninterested in thinking. He dipped his head, watching her, waiting for her to sense his intention and pull back.
She met his gaze and held it as their foreheads brushed lightly, an entirely pleasant sensation that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.
As their noses touched, brushed, and caressed, there was a pause. He wondered if he really intended to do what he was so close to doing. Could he allow himself to--
And then her lips were against his, soft and gentle and warm. There was a hand in his hair, pushing the long bangs back off his cheek—her hand, her fingernails scraping gently over the side of his head, the earpiece of his glasses, stimulating his scalp and sending a shiver down his spine. She stood on tiptoe, her body taunt and shaking gently against his, holding his head in place as her lips danced and teased and possessed and drove him insane.
When she pulled back she smiled, then giggled, reaching up to touch the skin just above his eyebrow. He melted at her touch; he was hers to do with as she willed.
She pulled her hand back, twirling a single fluffy pod between her fingers, the laughter claiming her eyes once more. She let the breeze carry the pod away, watching it, her smile his whole world.
And he wondered to himself if he'd every really be able to hate dandelions again.