Prompt: Sunrise and Sunset
Rating: T
He awakes just enough before the sun to be able to see it reflected off her skin, bursts of light freckling her through the blinds. It's so beautiful, she's so beautiful, that he has the urge to kiss each spot the sun appears, and because he knows he won't get this chance again, he does.
He starts at her hairline, brushing his lips over her nose, her cheekbones, and dipping into the hollow of her neck.
He knows she's awake when her breathing is no longer even. Still, he continues his journey, planting a kiss on the underside of her breast, on each of her ribs, and into the dip of her belly button, before backtracking a little and feeling her heartbeat flutter against his lips.
She lifts a hand, so he kisses that too, making sure to give each knuckle, each fingertip his attention. But then she grabs him by the nape of his neck, buries her fingers in his hair, and guides his lips to her own. And when tears trek down her face, he kisses those too.
~.~.~
She isn't sad. She's angry. She's fucking pissed off.
She's livid that despite everything her family has done for it, Soul Society can't find itself able to look the other way. Not for her. Not even for Ichigo.
Because of a stupid, outdated law, she lies in bed, trying to sear everything into her memory. Twenty years from now, she wants to be able to recall the exact shade of blue his eyes are. She wants to remember how he looks first thing in the morning, speckled with the first rays of sunlight, hair mussed from sleep. She wants to be able to draw up the feeling of his cool skin on hers, the tranquility of his reiatsu ebbing over her.
She's furious, and the only thing she can do about it is cry furious tears.
She hooks a leg around his narrow waist and pulls him flush against her. He complies, chest hard against hers, fitting so perfectly between her legs that there's no doubt in her mind that that's where he's always supposed to be.
~.~.~
They spend the entire day in bed. Vaguely, she wonders if maybe they should go outside, maybe get something to eat, but she reasons that this is it, this is the only day that is theirs, the last day that could be theirs, and she doesn't want to share him, not even with passersby.
The universe owes her that much, at least.
They pass the time remembering—with eyes, hands, tongues. She covers his collarbone with lovebites, mementos, and he whispers lies into her ear, beautiful beautiful lies, tells her that it won't be that bad and it'll be easy to move on and they'll see each other soon enough.
And then it's evening, and the room is dark. He can see the light underneath the door, and thinks of how deceivingly beautiful the sunset is. Sunsets used to make him think of her fondly, but now he knows they are forever tainted by the burning behind his eyes and her shaking hands and the haunted look on her face as she gazes at him through the shadows.
Their time is up.