godsend
yielding
:
The late Empress died on the 17th of June. The Crown Prince was eighteen years old.
There was speculation that the beloved Empress died because of an illness. The funeral was held on the day of her death. A strict censorship was reinforced: no news articles and broadcasts were made on the late Empress' death as the Imperial Family dealt with their loss in private.
For years onwards, no anniversaries were held. No special commemorations concerning her departure were conducted. It was as if it did not happen. Soon, her passing became a part of the distant past. Some had forgotten; few could remember.
The Empress was hardly mentioned in history textbooks. If she was, the description was brief: she was born on 9th of June and died on 17th of the same month due to an illness the Imperial family refused to divulge. When she was alive, the Empress, like her only son, was extremely private. However, despite her scarce public appearances, whenever she appeared, only lovely words were used to describe her: beautiful, charismatic, and kind.
:
After the brief visit, the girls left while the Emperor offered to give Orihime a tour of the garden.
Embarrassed, Orihime turned to face him with an apologetic and sad smile.
How could she forget? She, who was now, to some extent, related to her? But then, layers of secrecy shadowed her passing. This did not, however, diminish her feelings of mortification and inadequacy.
"I'm s-so sorry. About today, it's so absurd that I didn't know-!"
"Don't apologize, Orihime-chan. You were only twelve or thirteen at that time! Childhood memories are more important than historical events," he said warmly. He glanced skyward, smiling a little. "This day – it is only for us. I don't want to make this a public holiday. My wife had always wanted to live a simple life away from prying eyes. We honored her wishes until the very end." He then looked down at her, grinning. "C'mon, Orihime-chan! Let's continue our quest!"
Orihime nodded and fell into step beside him. The Emperor led her deeper into the garden, pointing to the trees and the memories attached to them.
An energetic ringer ripped in the air. The Emperor made a face and took out a ringing ultrathin flip-phone from his pocket. "I am busy with precious daughter of mine!" he huffed as soon as he answered the call. Orihime giggled behind her hand. He pouted, covered the mouthpiece and said, "Excuse me, Orihime-chan. I need to take this call."
She smiled at him. "Please don't worry about me. I'll be all right!"
He beamed at her fondly and turned, walking away from her while speaking to his phone. She glanced away from the sight of his retreating back and decided to carry on with her exploration.
As she ambled along the path, a soft tinkling sound that resembled the sound of flowing water caught her attention. Orihime followed it and found a small stream right away. She hurried over the edge and peered over the surface. Tucking the hem of her skirt behind her knees, she crouched and dipped her fingertips into the cool water.
Grinning, Orihime then plunged her whole hand in the water, drawing large circles, oblivious to the half-lidded gaze following her every unguarded move.
After monitoring the sparkling surface of clear water for some time, Orihime got to her feet and looked around. Rays of sunlight poured down through the leaves and branches, creating a golden mist as it hit the ground. Particles of light floated like golden dust in the air, making her feel as though she were somewhere magical.
Deciding to continue exploring, she followed the path of dogwoods. Dry leaves crunched under her heels. Her footsteps later slowed down. Oh. She looked to her right, stopping. I should go back. The footpath ends here. Where should I… She blinked, looking around.
Orihime glanced upward with a smile. Heh. I'm lost.
As she retraced her steps, she came upon an old metal bench with thick iron legs. She sat down, caressing the seat with reverence. Leaning back, she lifted her face to gaze at the sky, rays of sunlight filtering through her lowered thick lashes.
This scene was familiar: she was a young girl, surrounded by trees and sunshine, just like this, laughing, playing hopscotch, sometimes, hide and seek. He was smiling kindly at her, be kind, Orihime, be kind because each and every person is fighting a hard battle.
Sora, their Sunday walks, the footpath littered with leaves and twigs, she running, hopping, slow down, Orihime or you'll trip! His hands catching her, breaking her fall.
A sensation constricted her chest, engulfing her heart. How she missed her brother terribly. Where could he be? She'd know once she completed her 'task'. But she needed to hear his voice, see his kind face. Tell her what to do. Stop, carry on, or give up.
Each moment she spent with Ichigo weakened her determination – which had been very frail, even from the very beginning – to carry out her plan. He's a good man, and his family had treated her well. They had lost their mother, and were still deeply affected by that loss.
Moreover, her brother would be so disappointed over her. Even worst, he might condemn her and that would shatter her.
She sighed, shoulders slumping. It was strange, even to her, to feel this sad all of a sudden.
"Orihime."
Startled, Orihime looked to her right and found her husband standing a few feet from where she sat.
She turned her body to face him. "I-Ichigo-kun… You're here."
The corner of Ichigo's mouth tugged up in a small smile. "You're lost, aren't you?"
Orihime rubbed the back of her head, blushing. "Eh heh, a little!"
Ichigo smiled back, amused.
"I'm glad you came. We thought you're not going to come."
Under the sunlight, Ichigo's hair was both golden and fiery. "I'm sorry I'm late. The meeting was extended."
"It's okay. You're an important man, doing an important job. Oh, your father was here a while ago. He had a phone call so he had to leave."
"I saw him on my way here." His eyes narrowed. "He didn't do or say anything weird, did he?"
"Weird? How," asked Orihime.
He shrugged one shoulder, his scowl deepening. "He's the epitome of insanity. Did he mention anything that might have embarrassed or offended you? You know how ridiculous he is. Always exaggerating."
"He's a perfect gentleman."
Ichigo looked doubtful at first but nodded, smirking. "Good to hear that he actually acted like an adult today." He looked around then, his frown a bit wistful as though remembering something poignant.
"This was my mother's garden. No one's allowed to enter except for my family and the two old gardeners who helped her."
A blush rose to her cheeks. "O-Oh! I…" she stammered, embarrassed, looking lost. "I-I'm sorry. I didn't know—"
"What are you talking about?" he cut off, arching an eyebrow. "You're my wife. You're a part of my family now." He adjusted his posture and his next words were said with careful calmness. "I have to go somewhere. Would you mind coming with me?"
Orihime assumed that he was going to visit his mother's grave. She felt uncomfortable at being made to accompany him to visit a place of great significance. She felt out of place.
She rose from the bench, clasping her hands together. "Is it really alright for me to go with you?" She noticed him hesitate, his eyes changing, narrowing, a flicker of something, perhaps anger, peeking through his eyes. But in a nanosecond, his cool façade returned.
"Yeah," he answered, easing her worry.
They reached the monument. Orihime stood back to give him privacy, but Ichigo waved at her to come closer. Together, they stood in front of the stone. There was no engraving. It was plain and smooth.
I'm sorry.
Orihime closed her eyes. Her chest felt full that it was painful to breathe.
I know you will never understand and forgive me. But I have something I must do. I need to look for my brother. I need to find him.
She offered a short prayer afterwards. Rest in peace.
But how could she when the person who will fire a bullet into her son's head was standing right there, praying for her eternal peace?
"I know this is late but I haven't asked you about your family," Ichigo said when they began walking back. "What happened to your parents?"
Startled by the question, her steps faltered. Ichigo raised a hand to help her but Orihime recovered her footing rather quickly albeit clumsily. Eyes wide in shock, she looked up to him, looking lost.
"Orihime?" Ichigo asked, reaching a hand to her. It hovered in midair, hesitant, and then he pulled it back, curling it into a fist.
"According to your files, you're an orphan. Is it true?"
She opened her mouth, but closed it again, and then she bit her lower lip before answering. "I don't know my parents. My brother took me away as a baby."
Ichigo frowned. "Why?"
"…I'm not sure. I didn't ask," she answered quietly, sounding far away.
"Are they still alive?"
She shrugged one shoulder. "I suppose."
He must have noticed her discomfort for he kept silent for a while before asking another question. "What about your brother?"
Orihime lowered her eyes to avoid his gaze. She was a terrible liar, Tatsuki always told her. She said her face was too open, making it easy to read her.
"He works for the Ministry of Foreign Affairs. He's always travelling." This was not a lie, but it was not entirely true either. Orihime felt something inside her turn hard and cold.
Her brother worked for the Ministry of Foreign Affairs for years. She was thirteen when Sora received a promotion. His work became solely related to constant traveling outside Dainipponteikoku. He traveled regularly from country to country and since then, he had never come home. They regularly communicated thru emails and video chats. Their communication, however, became scarce during the fourth year – she was seventeen. Then she turned nineteen and he never contacted her again.
He disappeared. Like a plume of smoke vanishing into thin air. No trace.
"He didn't attend our wedding."
"H-He's very busy," she replied, her voice soft. Deep inside her, she felt the something hard and cold turn harder and colder at this lie.
In silence, they continued walking until they entered a building. Ichigo led her to the room where Yoruichi was waiting, observing an ukiyo-e print.
Unable to endure the uncomfortable tension much longer, Orihime moved forward to greet Yoruichi. But Ichigo stepped in her way, blocking her view with his chest and effectively rendering her immobile. Her eyes darted upward in surprise, only to drop to his chest to avoid his burning gaze.
A strip of naked flesh where his collar had gaped open caught her eye. Fascinated, she followed this strip of skin with her wide eyes, tracing the strong column of his throat, the curve of his lips, and finally his smoldering eyes. Their eyes met and her mouth went dry. Her breathing fractured upon realizing his closeness. He was standing so close that she felt like she was being engulfed by the massive wave of heat radiating off his body. The familiar heat reminded her of that night, causing her to squirm and her face to redden.
"Yoruichi-san will escort you home. I'll be late so don't wait up."
She blinked, dumbfounded. Orihime flushed deep red. "You noticed?" she whispered.
He looked her in the eye. "Don't be embarrassed," he murmured. Then his gaze fell on her lips.
Orihime swallowed and licked at her dry lips. A vague emotion she could not place flitted across Ichigo's eyes, darkening them. They were half-lidded, looking at her mouth, watching her worry her bottom lip. His jaw clenched, his eyes glittering with something dangerous and forbidden.
Standing a few feet away from them, Yoruichi rolled her eyes with a snort. The small noise seemed to snap Ichigo out of his heated daze. He glanced over his shoulder at Yoruichi, narrowing his eyes. Unabashed, the woman grinned.
Ichigo scowled in reply, shaking his head, and walked toward the door behind Orihime. As he passed her, their hands brushed against each other. That fleeting, electric moment. Ichigo stopped abruptly while Orihime stiffened, a tingle running down her spine, causing her toes to curl. Standing shoulder to shoulder, both were stock still, as if the moment had caught them.
A clock ticked somewhere. Two, three, four, five.
Without another word, Ichigo left the room.
When the sound of his footsteps disappeared, Orihime finally let out a shaky sigh, pressing a palm to her chest where her heart was. She was panting, her face hot; even her ears burned.
"Ah, young love," Yoruichi teased, grinning. Orihime's face turned a shade deeper than crimson, something that should not have been possible. "You two need to resolve your issues. I could stir the sexual tension between the two of you with a spoon. When was the last time you two had sex?"
"Y-Yo-Yoruichi-san!" she cried, covering her face.
:
July, now.
On the day Vega and Altair are allowed to meet, Orihime found out that time can dull things.
She never forgot the plan she made with The Boss. However, she, like any other woman with a healthy amount of hormones who happened to be married to a very handsome man, was susceptible to distractions.
Furthermore her growing feelings of affection and attraction to her husband were not helping.
So at times, when she found herself feeling something more, something beyond physical attraction, slipping into feelings of contentment — laughing as she watched Ichigo scowl and bicker with his father whenever they visit the Emperor; listening to his gruff, sometimes almost-soft voice; smiling at him whenever he looked at her; laughing with Rangiku and Hinamori; paying attention to Nanao's lectures — she had to press a hand to her chest to repress the burst of unfamiliar emotions.
Ignore it, forget it, discard it— these, she told herself. She had to consciously remind herself of the 'plan'. And this hurt a lot more than she would ever care to admit. Because it's one thing to hope for a fragment of happiness and another to have it entirely within her grasp. And yet she knew she cannot simply reach out and take it.
"Orihime."
His voice. Her heart clenched in a way that was both painful and sweet. Bittersweet longing filled her. She gave herself a hard shake. He was not here. How far was Praga from Dainipponteikoku? She had no idea; all she knew was the ache brought about by the distance between them.
Long, warm fingers wrapped themselves around her elbow.
"This isn't the right time to daydream."
That, Orihime frowned, that sounded so… real, she thought as she sighed dreamily, still lost in her thoughts.
"Orihime." Her heart skipped a beat. It was just an imagination and yet the effects were—
A large hand cupped her cheek and turned her face to the right.
Amber-brown eyes stared intensely into hers. "Are you all right? You're not sick, are you?"
Those eyes, the intensity, they looked too real.
"Ichigo-kun?"
He was supposed to be in Praga, attending a two-day global summit, and she, attending a large-scale festival on her own.
Ichigo raised an eyebrow at her. "Why do you look surprised?" He released her face and stared at her closely.
"Wh-When did you arrive?" Her question came out as breathless.
He did not answer right away, looking at her, as though searching her face, her eyes.
Then, "Two hours ago." And he looked forward, to the crowd.
Orihime's eyes widened. "And you came straight here?" He nodded, and a worried frown creased her brow. "But you're supposed to be resting…"
"It's fine. This is not the first time I've done something like this." He looked at her then, and Orihime tried not to smile so much, tried to repress and ignore the nagging feeling of so, so much happiness— but this is Orihime, always true, always honest, her face open to the world. So she could not help but smile as though she had seen something utterly beautiful.
His grip on her arm tightened. The pressure of his touch was an assurance, like a promise.
"But the flashes from the cameras are dizzying," he later confessed with a grunt, looking annoyed.
Her eyebrows drew together in worry. "Are you okay? You can leave if you want. I don't mind. Yoruichi-san and Hisagi-san are here. I'll be fine."
"No." Ichigo took her hand, making her blush. "I won't leave you."
For a second, she was stunned and she, she was slipping deeply, deeply, deeply into pure happiness, a transparent feeling that took a total hold of her whole being.
She smiled at him. "Thank you, Ichigo-kun."
Stars are shining,
Like fine gold and silver sand.
:
Orihime woke to the alarm-clock-radio playing the chorus of a French song. She craned her head to look at the time. Seven A.M., the 15th of July.
Sitting up, she rubbed her eyes and looked around sleepily. Her gaze fixated on a table where a box sat upon. Smiling slightly, Orihime slid off the bed, her nightgown falling to her ankles.
Showered, in a yellow dress, and her long hair in a loose bun at the side of her head, Orihime headed out, working up enough courage to approach Ichigo and greet him a happy birthday without stuttering. Whenever she got nervous, her words turned into incomprehensible jumble.
In a corridor, she met Hinamori. "Good morning! Have you seen my husband? Is he in the dining room?"
"He's about to leave now. He has an early appointment and he would not be able to join you for breakfast."
"Oh, I see…" Orihime mumbled, her expression turning somewhat disappointed. But if she hurried, she'll catch up with him and wish him, hopefully without blushing so much, a happy birthday.
Despite her feminine frame, Orihime was a fast runner with good endurance. She came down the staircase of the front hall. The front doors were opened. Out front, Ichigo was standing by an opened car door and conversing with his chamberlain, the younger Ishida.
"Ichigo-kun!" Orihime called out breathlessly.
Heads turned to her. With a frown, Ichigo approached her quickly, looking bewildered. "What's wrong?" he asked, reaching over to lay a hand on her shoulder.
"O-Oh, it's nothing!" she assured him, still catching her breath. "I-I'm sorry. I was told you're in a hurry and—"
"It's all right. What is it?"
Remembering her objective, Orihime turned a deeper shade of red.
"Orihime?"
"I-I just want to—"
"Sir," Ishida interrupted. "If we don't depart in ten minutes, you'll be late."
"Give us five minutes, then," Ichigo grunted, eyebrows furrowing at the interruption. Ishida nodded and stepped away. He returned his gaze on her. "Did you forget to brush your hair?" asked he with a small amused smile.
Orihime gasped, one of her hands flying to her hair, and found them loose and tangled around her shoulders. Her blush deepened, feeling very self-conscious. "Oh! I-I'm sorry! I-I'm such a mess and—"
"Don't worry about it." Ichigo tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. His fingers sifted through her long hair before letting them go. "I'm sorry but I need to be on time for my meeting. What is it that you need to tell me?"
"Oh, right!" Steeling her nerves, she smiled up at him broadly. "Happy birthday." Ichigo stared, clearly surprised. Apparently, this was not what he had expected. Orihime fidgeted, looking down, her hair cascading forward.
"I know it's not very important but I—"
"Thank you." Ichigo reached forward to squeeze her shoulder. Orihime started and lifted her head. His hand slid down her arm and took her hand. They were simple words of gratitude, his taking her hand, a simple gesture. But they were enough.
"Do you have any plans for today?" she asked, eyes flickering down to stare at their hands.
"I have plenty of businesses to attend to. I can't afford to delay them."
"I hope you'll be able to celebrate your birthday without working too much."
"It's all right. I'm used to it." Ichigo glanced over his shoulder at Ishida who respectfully gave them some privacy before looking at her again. "I have to go, Orihime." He seemed to hesitate, and then added, "I'll be around for dinner."
Orihime cocked her head to the side. "Oh, that would be great!" She beamed. "Have a nice day, Ichigo-kun. Please don't work too hard on your special day, okay? Just for today, slow down." The corner of his mouth quirked up a little in a smile before he dropped her hand.
"I'll try."
Later, Orihime stood by a window. Outside, the sky was cloudless, blue all over. Behind her, Nanao was organizing her things on the table. She called her over and started her lecture. Orihime did not think of anything else until ten in the morning, when she returned upstairs and spotted a familiar box in a red wrapper and white ribbon.
When she returned to the library to seek her mentor, she asked Nanao if she could go to Ichigo's office. Nanao watched her intently, and then closed the book she was reading.
"I'll send a word to your guards."
:
The Office of The Crown Prince was located at the 32nd floor of a forty-eight stories building which split into two towers at the 33rd floor. This design was meant to resemble a computer chip.
Ichigo's office covered the entire 32nd floor. On the white walls were paintings. Monochrome, landscapes, in sepias. The ceilings were twenty-foot high and the ceiling-to-floor bulletproof windows provided a panoramic view of the city. The floor also contained a library, smaller offices, a bar area, and lounges.
They stopped in front of a set of wooden doors. Embossed on each door was the Kurosaki family crest, a roundel encircling a lotus flower. Hisagi swung them open and moved aside to let Orihime through. The high-backed chair behind the black desk was empty. At the front desk, a woman had had informed her that Ichigo had left, but will be back in twenty minutes or more.
After having adjusted her eyesight to the afternoon light that spilled through the large windows behind the desk, Orihime finally took notice of the open space before her. Like in the corridors outside, the ceiling was high. The walls were bare with wood paneling. A 55-inch TV screen was mounted on a wall.
Apart from the desk and leather chair, there was no other furniture present. On his desk was a laptop, a lotus shaped-glass piece on the corner, a neat stack of folders, and a small tray of pencils and pens. There were no framed photographs, calendar or a telephone.
Before Hisagi left, he switched on the TV. Now alone, Orihime became more conscious of the huge space. Nothing seemed to indicate that a person spent all of his day here. Something about the extra spaces here and there made her feel sad. Not for herself or for Ichigo, but for the things trapped inside this room. Small rooms were what she liked more, with all its simple necessities, the smallest spaces, the little corners.
This room needed a potted plant in the corner or a small bowl of goldfish. Anything with color would suffice to add life to this room.
As Orihime circled his desk, trailing a small hand over the edge of the table, a thin, rectangular box caught her attention. Tied to a white ribbon was a small card. Her curiosity was piqued, very much so, like an itch that needed to be scratched. Caving in, she bent over to peer closer and read the elegant scrawl written in black ink:
Happy birthday, Ichigo
Rukia
Uncertainty tugged at her as she glanced at her own gift. Will he like it? Was it the right size? Did she pick the right color?
Shaking these thoughts away, Orihime distracted herself from the uncomfortable emotions swirling inside her by turning her attention to the TV screen. It was tuned into a twenty-four hours news channel. The news anchor was emphasizing that the video they were about to show was live.
The video loaded up, and Orihime stiffened. The air, all of a sudden, was thin and impossible to inhale.
The video showed Ichigo having lunch with Kuchiki Rukia. It seemed that the camera filming them was several feet away, apparently trying to appear inconspicuous from the two people in the video. Clicking sounds and muttering filled the background. But Orihime did not notice; her attention was fixed on the two people.
"Do you have plans for today?"
"I have plenty of businesses to attend to. I can't afford to delay them."
Kuchiki Rukia was pointing to the circular cake, speaking. In reply, Ichigo shook his head, but seconds later, he conceded and blew the candles. The dark-haired woman smiled in satisfaction and the two of them talked.
The video was replayed and Orihime turned away, puzzled at her reaction. She took a quick look at the screen, as though she were afraid of what she might see, and there it was again, that prickling feeling that constricted her chest, making breathing painful.
Outside, standing on either side of the doors, the guards snapped to attention when a door swung outward and the Crown Princess stepped out.
Upon seeing her, Hisagi immediately arrived to her side.
"I forgot I have to be back before two o'clock."
If he noticed her distress, Hisagi did not show it. "Yes, ma'am. Right this way."
The ride back to the palace did not take an hour but Orihime felt exhausted as though something heavy were pressing down on her. Normally, it would take an enormous amount of stress, both physical and emotional, to distress her.
Much to Hinamori's surprise, Orihime decided to retire early. This worried Hinamori for the Crown Princess never skipped dinner no matter how tired she was. The sight of food and the prospect of creating unique concoctions always rejuvenated her.
"Is there something wrong?" asked Hinamori worriedly. Since her arrival from her trip, Orihime had been quiet. It was unsettling.
Orihime blinked and lifted her head. When she saw the look Hinamori was giving her, she smiled kindly. "I'm just tired, don't worry about me. I'll get in bed, dream about food and the next morning, I'll feel much better!"
:
After shutting the door behind her, Orihime leaned against it for a moment before walking to a sitting room. Removing her shoes, she paced the carpeted floor, twisting her hands, looking for something to do. She needed to do something, focus on something to get her mind off other things.
Unfortunately, as she turned, facing the TV set, she froze and recalled what she saw a few hours ago in Ichigo's office; the news and what was featured.
The dull heaviness that cropped up hard in her chest nearly overcame her. She had no reason or right to be upset. So what if Ichigo spent his birthday with another woman? What of it? It did not really matter. While it was true they were married, theirs was not a marriage of hearts. He was free to spend time with whoever he wanted.
And yet she felt betrayed, hurt even.
This unnamed affliction, unfortunately, was keen enough to dampen her spirits and appetite. Never had she allowed things to let her down. In spite of every hardship she had had, she always did her best to live as happily as she could and cope with every difficulty with optimism and little craziness. (Tatsuki often told her she was "a little crazy, but it's okay. Yours is a good type of crazy. Only you could perfectly recite twenty seven poems from Man'yoshu while juggling three loaves of bread. Now that's really cool. And a bit crazy.")
But this one— it was weird and affected her in a different, deeply disconcerting way. Most of all, it drove her half-mad to try to figure out what exactly she felt. Could all of this really have been caused by witnessing her husband spend his day with another woman?
Orihime pinched both of her cheeks.
"No more gloom!" She squished her cheeks together, making an odd facial expression.
Blowing out a long breath, she flunked down on the sofa. Through the thick red hair falling over her face haphazardly, she gazed at the space before her, struggling to grasp her true feelings.
:
Roughly fifteen minutes after Orihime went upstairs, the convoy carrying Ichigo pulled up at the covered entranceway. He went straight to the dining hall, expecting to see his wife. However, when he got there, the room was empty. Ishida called for an attendant.
"Where's my wife?" Ichigo demanded.
"She is upstairs, sir."
His frown deepened into a scowl. "It's only seven in the evening. She is supposed to be having dinner. Where is Hinamori?" The last sentence became a thundering command, sending the employee into a panic and hurry to find the said lady.
Before long, Hinamori appeared and Ichigo turned to face her, cutting off her greeting curtly. "Did something happen? We—" He paused abruptly, clenched his jaw, and glared at the empty table.
When he looked at Hinamori again, his expression had returned to its aloof scowling. "She finished her dinner quite early," he said instead in a calm, cold voice.
Hinamori gave small shake of her head. "She skipped dinner, sir."
Ishida watched a vague look come over Ichigo's face. Then another look, an emotion he had never seen, darkened Ichigo's eyes and hardened his face. It was gone before Ishida could interpret it.
Without another word, the Crown Prince headed off upstairs. Hinamori worriedly expressed her confusion over the turn of events. Ishida and Sado, on the other hand, exchanged glances and said nothing.
:
Their bedroom was empty, as well as the main sitting room.
As Ichigo stood in a hallway, his coat and tie gone, the long sleeves of his shirt rolled up above his elbows, a subtle noise caught his attention. He listened carefully to gauge its origin. It was coming from the smaller lounge.
Stopping in the doorway, he peered inside. The television was on, a news program, showing two persons in a chic restaurant; he was blowing the candles on the small cake while Rukia smiled from across the table.
Watching from the sofa was his wife. She was lying on her side, a foot resting on the armrest. Her position had caused her blue skirt to ride up, revealing her pale legs.
The program cut to a commercial. She flipped through several television shows, lingered on a cooking show, then a documentary, and idled through more channels before sitting up and turning off the television.
Brushing her hair from her face, she got to her feet and turned toward the door. Upon seeing him standing in the doorway, she gasped.
"Ichigo-kun," she stammered when she recovered from surprise.
He furrowed his eyebrows as he regarded her. "You didn't eat dinner."
A look of surprise passed over her face before her features arranged themselves in a somewhat forced cheerful expression. "I-I'm not hungry and I'm really sleepy so I…" She trailed off, eyes flickering down to look away from him.
Turning her face away, a sheet of her hair partially hid her face. Orihime lifted a hand to tuck her hair behind her ear.
"You're early."
Ichigo's eyebrows drew together at the abrupt change of topic. His frown turned into confusion when he noticed the hint of nervousness in her movements as she ambled near the doorway where he hovered.
"I told you, didn't I?"
Stopping, she looked at him with her wide caramel eyes, puzzled.
Ichigo ran a hand through his rumpled hair, making it messier. "I said I'll be around dinner." Her look of confusion prompted him to carefully further elaborate. "We're supposed to have dinner together."
Her mouth formed a surprised 'o'.
"But…" She looked down at her bare feet, pink coloring appearing gradually on her face. "I'm not hungry," she whispered. But her stomach chose that exact moment to produce a loud, telltale rumble.
"You're not a good liar, either," Ichigo said with a small grin.
Orihime turned red until she looked completely flushed.
He leaned his shoulder against the doorframe. "Thanks for the sweater. It's too early to use it but it's going to be useful later this year." His voice fell quiet. "You should have waited for me."
Their eyes met for what felt like the longest time. Her lips moved to form words, perhaps another excuse, but she said nothing. Her small hands gripped her skirt while shifting her weight from one foot to another. She had lowered her eyes, her lashes hiding her thoughts.
This frustrated and fascinated Ichigo at the same time. Frustrating, because he wanted to know what went on inside her head; fascinating, because her shy innocence was something refreshing to encounter. He was accustomed to ladies with faked coyness. To witness such artlessness was quite mesmerizing.
"I didn't want to disturb you." Orihime explained. And then she smiled a sort of smile she wore whenever she seemed pleased and self-conscious at the same time. "I'm glad you like the sweater! I don't know your size so I used one of your coats as a reference."
Another effort, it seemed, to change the subject.
"I was really worried at first but now, I'm very happy." This time, she gave him a real huge smile. "But," she glanced upward, biting her bottom lip as she pondered, "I wish I could've given you something more special. But I can't think of what else to give, something you'd really like."
"There is one thing you can give me as a bonus," he murmured.
Orihime blinked at him. "What is it?"
He stepped closer to her until they were chest to chest. Eyes wide, Orihime staggered backward but he caught her around her waist, pulling her against him.
"I'll consider this an extra gift," he whispered, his breath touching her lips. He felt her shudder as he ran his hand down her back. Orihime gazed up at him, looking even more bewildered.
Then there was silence, madness, and his heart beating against hers.
:
Her imaginary walls were crumbling, and suddenly she was naked of everything.
Her heart was beating violently, and she was certain he could feel it.
One of his hands cupped her cheek, tilting her head up to kiss her more. There was a touch of hunger in his caress, a passion restrained by tenderness. Shyly, but needing to get closer, Orihime pressed up harder against him, brushing her breasts against his chest.
With him, she discovered another layer of her, as someone who was capable of fierce passion and desire, consumed by a hunger so strong it ate her up. What stunned her more was the realization that for a while now, she had been nursing these feelings. She could not remember how and when it began, but it was there, getting out of control.
Somewhere, in the back of her mind, a voice was telling her, warning her: this is dangerous, very, very dangerous.
And yet, here she was, returning his kisses with eagerness. In every stroke of his tongue against hers, she felt sparks danced along her nerves and around the burning knot in her lower belly. It made the area between her thighs throb and burn with fierce craving.
Ichigo shoved a hand inside her blouse and traced her spine. The heat of his fingers on her bare skin caused a jolt to run through her body. As their kisses grew more heated, a thick fog began to cloud her mind, disintegrating her rational thoughts into chips and pieces.
A small part of her fought for control, but the callused hand trailing her back palmed her bottom and pulled her forward against something hard.
A new heat rushed to her face as soon Orihime realized what exactly it was. At once, her body responded to his arousal, her thin fingers curling into his shirt, pulling him closer to her body, grinding against him and almost melting on the spot at the electric sensation it created.
Their lips parted slightly, giving her a chance to collect her thoughts and catch her breath. Orihime's long lashes fluttered shyly. Heavy-lidded amber eyes met hers, the intensity of their gaze making her knees weak.
"I-Ichigo…"
A dark emotion stirred in his eyes. He took her mouth again in a hard kiss. His hand grasped her breast firmly, making her whimper against his demanding lips. She could feel wild, heated energy beat furiously under his hot skin, through his muscles. His lips brushed her warm cheek, jaw and ear before dipping low, pressing hard kisses to the side of her moist neck, where her pulse paused and lifted. His breath was hot and wet against her skin. All of a sudden, Ichigo sank his teeth into her skin gently, sucking on her skin, marking her, making her moan.
Boldly, Orihime pulled his head from her neck to kiss him. His mouth opened and her tongue swept in. He groaned against her mouth, and the hand on her breast trailed up to grasp the hair on her nape, deepening the kiss as though he was trying to imprint himself in her.
He walked her backward until her back touched a wall. She tugged at the front of his shirt as she pressed her lips to his forcefully. Ichigo reciprocated the movement, pressing harder against her between her legs. She tore her mouth from him, squirming as she panted, heart tripping at the feel of his hard length pressing against her lower belly.
Orihime opened her eyes slowly. Their eyes met with a strange impact. For a heavy moment, they stared at each other, neither blinking. Something passed between them at that moment. Neither was aware of this, both were more conscious of the physical attraction pulling them together.
Small hands slid up to the sides of his face to cup Ichigo's cheeks. Her lips curved as a warm glow spread from her heart to every limb when his lips tugged upwards in a small smile.
Ichigo lowered his head and kissed her, gently and lightly at first until it turned thorough and hungry but still very tender. It made Orihime smile, how gentle he kissed her now.
One of his hands reached down to slip under her skirt, caressing her thigh. His touch slowly went higher under her skirt. Ichigo pulled back to watch her reaction.
As expected, she blushed under his intense stare and bit her swollen lip, her heart rate at high speed. Finally, he cupped her between her thighs. Orihime jerked and gasped, her hazel eyes opening wider. She clutched at his shirt, hips moving against his hand, clumsy in their effort. Her back bowed when his index finger traced the outline of her wet folds through the damp cloth, his fingers thorough but slow and teasing, frustrating her.
The air felt thicker and boiling, difficult to breathe in. She could feel the strain of his muscles underneath her palms. In ragged breaths, she pulled one gasping gulp of air after another, trembling against him. His hand still on her thigh, Ichigo nudged her legs apart. She could feel his hot, quick breathing on her face.
Panting, she lifted her head, meeting his eyes. Her heart tripped at the hunger staring back at her.
"I need to touch you," he growled. The sound of his low, raspy voice caused a shudder to run down her spine.
Without waiting for her response, his fingers slipped under the edge of her panties. Orihime's breath caught at the searing contact. They probed lightly and then latch on the small, hardening nub of flesh and nerves, pinching and rolling it between his thumb and forefinger. Gasps and soft moans spilled from her mouth, her small hands gripping his biceps tightly.
With a soft caress, Ichigo inserted a finger into her warm, wet center. Orihime stilled for a second before a fractured moan rushed from her trembling lips, her eyes rolling in the back of her head.
Another finger joined the first. Her small toes curled in pleasure, small, gasping noises escaping her swollen lips.
"Fuck," Ichigo hissed between clenched teeth. He caught her mouth in a kiss and tugged her bottom lip with his teeth sharply.
Heat surged in her lower belly, coiling tightly into a knot, nearly overcoming her. The pace of his thrusting fingers increased. Similarly, her hips rose and fell faster, matching his swiftness, taking everything he was giving her.
Ichigo released her bruised lip and held her hip. Orihime squeezed her eyes shut, chest heaving as she struggled to contain the embarrassing sounds in the back of her throat. Her mind steadily grew fuzzy as his long fingers curved inside her while his thumb continued to put pressure on the swollen nub at the apex of her sex.
Her face contorted as she tried to focus but she was lost, too lost, in the throes of burning passion. Through the heated daze, she found his mouth and kissed him.
So close.
Please.
Her senses felt like on a verge of falling apart at the seams. Feeling as though she'd fall and drown, one of her hands moved to grasp at his hair, pulling at the spikes.
Groaning in her mouth, Ichigo forced his fingers deeper, rubbing harder, touching that special spot inside her, making her scream a little.
In a ragged breath, he whispered her name against her lips, as though it was a taste on his tongue.
The effect was instantaneous.
Pleasure tore through her with a force of a wave. She gasped and moaned, the sound grazing his lips. Sweet, addictive. His fingers continued their merciless pace, his thumb rubbing her clit firmly, prolonging the pleasure. Orihime clung to him, trembling. Beads of sweat dotted her forehead, and several strands of hair stuck to her flushed, damp cheeks.
A minute dragged by before Orihime could move. The area between her legs was still pulsing with tiny aftershocks. She sucked in a breath when he slowly pulled his fingers from her wet heat.
To her surprise, he pressed another long kiss to her lips. Orihime framed his face with both of her hands as they kissed. She liked touching his face, memorizing every bone, every curve. Her palms moved down to caress his neck as his lips moved over her forehead.
Something inside Orihime turned soft and warm when he kissed her forehead. She closed her eyes and pressed her face to his neck again, taking in his scent. Clean, a hint of fabric conditioner, shampoo, and something uniquely Ichigo.
Unlike her calm self, Ichigo was breathing harshly. His whole body was still rigid, as tense as tightly coiled spring. But his voice was gentle when he asked, "Would you like to have dinner with me?"
Looking up from his neck, she smiled broadly. "I'd love to."
The corner of his mouth lifted up in a half-smile. He licked the edge of his upper lip with the tip of his tongue and the brief glimpse of it caused her heart to trip in her chest. She swallowed and blushed.
He took a deep breath, closing his eyes. When he opened them, his gaze was hard, almost predatory. His voice was still soft, though.
"Fix yourself. I'll wait for you downstairs."
Shyly, Orihime responded with a weak nod, avoiding his eyes. Certain she could stand on her own, Ichigo stepped back. Still feeling drained, she leaned heavily against the wall behind her, fixing her disheveled skirt. As she watched him, she noticed that he was clenching his hands as though he were in pain, his narrowed eyes watching her intensely. Something in his dark gaze sent a lance of pleasure through her. Perhaps it was in the way he looked at her, or a bit of satisfaction at being able to inspire such a heated reaction from him.
One of his hands moved as if to touch her, but he seemed to change his mind at the last minute and his hand curled into a fist and returned to his side. Blowing out a harsh breath, Ichigo turned to leave, his steps heavy, his breathing heavier.
Left to stare at the space before her, Orihime was still stunned and winded from the force of her sexual release. Embarrassedly, her body was still throbbing with need. Her heartbeat was loud inside her head.
After hastily fixing her disheveled appearance, she went to their room and changed into a new set of clothes. There were some difficulties in decreasing the flush on her face, though.
Finished, she smiled at her reflection. She felt and looked happy, refreshed. Whatever afflicted her for the whole afternoon had faded completely. In its place was a warm glow of genuine happiness. With one last smile, she hurried out of the room.
:
(off with his head!
off with his
off with
off
…)
notes.
(1) The building's exterior is based on Tokyo Metropolitan Main Building No. 1
(2) 'Stars are shining, like fine gold and silver sand' - last line of Tanabata song (translations may vary depending on the source)
(3) 'Be kind, Orihime, be kind because each and every person is fighting a hard battle.'Original text: "Be pitiful, for every man is fighting a hard battle" by Ian Maclaren
(4) Man'yoshu – a collection of poetry