Pucker Up
Fourth was a Tease
Love is a butterfly.
A small butterfly with dainty black wings and deep blue eyes. It goes where it pleases and pleases where it travels. Chase a butterfly in a meadow and it will flutter away. Chase a butterfly and be teased. Sit still, wait, and it will come.
Because butterflies love to tease.
Ichigo had been kissed three times. Two out three he had enjoyed the kiss, and two out of three he had been kissed. So it made perfect sense that on the fourth, he would be the one to take the initiative. He would make the move, not Rukia.
Rukia, in a metamorphic in sense, was what Ichigo called a 'hell butterfly.' It was hell trying to kiss her. She was a butterfly with devil horns. A little black butterfly that he just couldn't quite grab.
It was aggravating. Absolutely aggravating. Ichigo felt like an idiot flailing his arms around, trying to c apture the butterfly fluttering over his head.
She would let him get close; maybe even just inches away. Then she would she scrunch up her shoulders, smirk, and step back. Or maybe just at the last moment, she would lean away and turn to the right so that he would miss and end up kissing her brow or cheek. If he sat next to her, she would get up and walk away, but never without a subtle wink.
His most embarrassing attempt had resulted with a complete hit and miss. He had thought it would best to move quick, so quick that she couldn't escape. If he had to use Bankai super speed, so be it. Unfortunately, he moved a little too quickly, and someone just happened to call out Rukia's name. She whirled around and Ichigo missed completely.
SPLASH!
He went head first into the deep end of his high school pool. As the air bubbles gurgled to the surface, he heard Rukia's laughter,
distorted and half drown out by a chlorine blue sea.
What sort of man gets kissed, but doesn't get to kiss? Why, the fool who tries to smooch a little black butterfly!
To hell with love, to hell with butterflies. To hell with hell butterflies.
Later that evening, long after Ichigo had given up on his futile attempts, he flopped onto the couch. A little TV did the soul good when winding down after a confusing day of emotional catastrophe.
Little did he know that by the end of the show, Ichigo would have forgotten the plot. She clambered over the top of the couch and slid down onto the cushion next to him.
Ichigo said nothing. He knew it would be futile if he tried to kiss her.
"Do you mind if I sit here?"
Yes, as a matter of fact, he did mind. He had been playing this game all day long, with disastrous consequences.
"No."
Damn it.
His brain and his tongue seemed to have lost sync.
"Please don't pou t."
"I'm not pouting."
Of course he was pouting. When a man fails miserably to net that fluttering piece of happiness, he has every reason to pout.
"I was only teasing." Rukia smiled, laying her head on his shoulder in an okay-here-I-am-you-can-kiss-me-now sort of way.
It was tempting.
In all honesty, he was tempted to lean over and kiss her, but instead he just ignored her presence. He 'ignored' the faint scent of sweet perfume; 'ignored' the warmth against his right side, the soft squeeze of her hand against his palm, the soft black locks spilling over his shoulder. The touch of her hand against his cheekbone, and her soft rose petal lips on the bridge of his nose.
Ichigo's stomach was doing roller coasters. Topsy turvy, up and down and all around.
He sighed.
Rukia was impossible to ignore.
- - -
A/n: I'm feeling really corny today. But what's a romance without corny scenes? Although, this drabble made me feel happy too…maybe it was the butterfly thing?
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