"It's been quite enough time since Rukia's wedding. I think it is appropriate timing to plan another." Byakuya just stood silent, wishing he could not hear his aunt's words. He didn't want to get married. Not to another noble. All he wanted was Hime. His aunt continued. "I have brought many ladies of fine upbringing into this house. You shall choose one."

"I am not interested." He snapped. He didn't want to replace - no, substitute what he held in his heart with something that paled in comparison. He missed Orihime like a madman, but with his old crab of a relative and others she had commissioned to watch his every move he was unable to contact her. She must be hurting as much as him, if not more. He winced at the thought.

"It has been nine months. You need to let go of these trivial feelings and attend to your duties as head of this estate." The old woman said through gritted teeth. "You need to produce a son before it is too late."

Byakuya could no longer bear to listen to the old hag. He stormed down the hall towards his room. It was as close to running away from this world as he could get. There he would bury himself in a book, or memories of the redheaded woman so far out of his reach.

He opened a random novel and attempted to read it. His eyes skimmed the same page over and over, but his mind could not absorb the words.

"Damned it all to hell!" He growled. He couldn't focus. Hell, he couldn't function. Not since their last night I'm each other's presence when she had been so unceremoniously dismissed from the festivities. He stood there like a helpless child, a coward and let her run away. Alone. Back to her lonely, quiet life in the world of the living.

He wanted to chase after her. To tell her not to leave, but that would be selfish. It would require her death and the end of comfort and position for his adopted sister, or worse. He could not do that to either of them.

Maybe his aunt was right. Since he couldn't have what he wanted, he would have to do the only thing he could. Fulfill his duties. He would pick a suitable mate and live out the rest of his days playing his role. He was Buakuya Kuchiki after all.

()()()()()

Orihime sat alone in her apartment. She looked out her window at the snow falling down on the big city that surrounded her, a mug of hot tea nestled between her hands.

Being alone was nothing new. It was like this every year. She didn't have to spend it void of company, but that was the way she wanted it.

The president of her company had invited her to his house for a Christmas feast, clients had invited her to various festivities around town - where anyone who was anyone was sure to be, friends invited her to dine with family, but she wouldn't accept. She claimed she had other plans so important that she couldn't break them.

Tears began to flood her eyes. She missed a certain someone. She had promised herself she was done pining away over him, but she couldn't help that the wound inflicted on her heart still felt as fresh as the day it was made.

"I still love you." She sobbed.

Months had passed since she last saw the fright in Byakuya's eyes. Though it was subtle, she could see it there, feel small waves of it emanating from him. One not so in tune with him would never know. He was justified in that fear. His old aunt would do anything to have her way, what with his adopted sister doing something so lowly as marrying a commoner. The old hag's cold, fragile heart wouldn't be able to endure much more. Especially something like her prominent nephew marrying a "gold digger," or a "harlot."

She hadn't heard from him. She didn't expect to, but she liked to think that one day he'd send word to show that he thought of her from time to time. Alas, he was bound to duty and she wasn't a part of the plan. She never was. It was best she wrote him off like the rest of them. Her tears slowed.

Her track history with men seemed lacking. As beautiful as everyone claimed her to be, she never was beautiful enough. Her first crush Ichigo Kurosaki never looked at her as a woman until they met at Rukia's wedding last spring. As soon as she'd given up hope in ever conquering his heart, she went from one man to the next. They always wanted change her, to tame her. After all that she'd gone through and worked for she'd be damned if she'd let it all go on the account of a man. She'd had a rough life and had put those sugar coated days behind her. She wouldn't be where she was now if she hadn't.

She laughed of embarrassment at memories of her in her younger days. She was such a fool. Believing in robots, little blue men, and the power of love. It was a harsh truth growing up - that love in fact did not conquer all.

She felt warmth run down her lips. Drip, drip, drip she heard and looked down at the cup of warm liquid in her grip. The opaque green tea was turning more red with every drop. She had a bloody nose. They were becoming more frequent with the cold, dry weather. As she got older it seemed her sinuses couldn't adjust to the temperature fluctuations.

There was a knock at the door. People were such a nuisance, always showing up at the wrong time. Angrily, Orihime tore a few tissues from the end table by her chair, held them to her face and rushed towards the door, ruined drink in her other hand.

With her free pinky she managed to push the handle of the door down, and pull it towards her. Peering around the small opening she saw one of the last men on earth she wanted to see.

"Kurosaki." She mumbled out behind her gob if tissue. In her frustration she had failed to sense his spiritual pressure. If she had known she would have pretended to be gone.

"Merry Christmas, Ori... Inoue." He felt he better not be too familiar. He could sense her irritation, the pressure building up, waiting for him to say the wrong thing and release itself on him.

She backed away from the door allowing him entry. He accepted her silent invitation into her home. In he walked with a back pack and a bag of gifts wrapped in pretty colored paper with bows. He set them down in the entryway.

Orihime hurried herself to the kitchen where she dumped out her bloodied tea and attempted to wash up, but the blood kept coming.

"If you tilt your head back, it'll slow it down until it stops." He said softly in her ear. She jumped. She hadn't realized he'd advanced on her. She was really going to have to work on sensing his spiritual pressure. Knowing him he was probably trying to hide it just to be irritatingly sneaky.

She did as he suggested, tilted her head back to feel the warm, metallic tasting liquid slide down the back of her throat. It was disgusting and reminded her of her days of torture in Los Noches. It was a sensation she'd much rather forget.

After a few moments of standing over her kitchen sink, head held back, she realized the blood had stopped flowing. She reached for a towel and it was snatched away before she could grasp it. Ichigo ran warm water over it.

"Face me." He ordered with a smile spread across his face. She did so, taken aback by his handsome features. She was so upset before she had forgotten to actually look at him.

"The years have been kind to you." She whispered. She looked down at the hands that were busy cleaning her up in order to avoid eye contact.

"And to you too. Even with a bloody nose and after crying you look beautiful." He replied honestly. He stopped and rested his palms on her shoulders. "I lo-"

"Oh look, I got some on my sweater too." She looked deep in his brown eyes, begging him not to continue his words. She knew what he wanted to say and wasn't ready to hear it. A long time ago she would have been in complete ecstasy, but not now. Possibly never.

"Please." He pleaded with her, eyes red and moist. A feeling of great agony burst from his skin, wrapping itself around her. It was hard to breath and her heart ached. She was feeling what he could no longer hold in.

"My shirt... It's dirty." She spoke, barely above a whisper. Her fingers curled around the hem of her top. Her hands rose, dragging the fabric up her torso. His hands dropped to his sides as he watched in awe as she peeled the garment off her body and tossed it to the floor. She stood before him, completely naked from the waist up. The towel dropped from his grip.

"Touch me." She demanded. She was lonely, choked by his grief, and was desperate to feel anything other than pain. He didn't comply. She reached for both of his hands and guided them over her smooth stomach to rest on the small of her back. He let out a shaky breath as she snaked her arms around his neck. Standing on the tips of her toes she met his lips with hers.

Their touch ignited a fire in Ichigo that Orihime hadn't expected. From the moment they kissed he went on autopilot. Eyes glazed over, clouded by pure lust. He leaned into her. Tongues danced in the warmth of their connecting mouths while hands wandered greedily. Her shorts fell to the ground, followed almost immediately by her panties. Small, desperate fingers fumbled with his belt buckle and he brushed them aside to assist.

As much as she despised him she wanted to feel close to something - someone and he was eager to fill that need. She looked at his determined face, finally freeing himself of his constricting belt. She assisted him with his shirt, one button at a time. Each fastener released revealed more of his muscular chest and glorious abs. How she'd love to hand wash a few things on those one day.

Ichigo caught her mouth with his. His hands reached around and lifted her up on the counter top. She ran her hand down the front of his body to grip his hard erection. Her eyes widened at his girth. He flinched at the touch. A throaty moan escaped him.

To show his appreciation he pulled her head to the side and sunk his teeth lightly into the crook of her neck. She gasped. His attentions shifted to her unusually large assets. Taking one breast in his hand he dipped his head down to suck on her hard nipple. This caused her to squirm.

"P-please, no! K-Kurosaki..." She cried. The sensation was too much.

"Ichigo." He stopped and corrected her. She looked at him a bit confused. "Say it."

"I-Ichigo." She whimpered out of frustration.

"Again."

"Ichi-" Before she could finish he pulled her hips towards him and without warning, pushed himself inside her. "Ah!"

He was incredibly large, almost too large. His erection stretched her walls to the absolute limit. Slowly, he moved in and out of her, allowing her to adjust to his size.

"Again." He ordered, moving a bit faster. She looked at him defiantly. Faster. "Say it."

"I-chi-go..." She managed to call out in between thrusts. The pressure was building in the pit of her stomach. The inevitable was about to happen. "I'm..."

"Me too." He breathed out. He pulled her close to him, one hand around her waist and the other tangled in her hair. Soon a wave of raw pleasure washed over them as they both reached climax. "Oh fuck!"

For a short time Orihime allowed Ichigo to hold her. She was too exhausted to protest and he took full advantage of it.

"I should get dressed." She let go of him. He held onto her tighter. She have him a questioning look.

"Just one night." He rarely begged. It was something he reserved only for her. It was something he wasn't accustomed to, but found it came all too easily around this woman. Despite being a hero and hardened warrior, all he could do was be a complete pussy around her. He must look utterly pathetic in his eyes. Just what she needed - more reasons to despise him.

"Okay."