A/N: "His Look" rated K+. This one is not funny, sorry if that's a let down. This story actually came from wanting to write something completely sexy that involved absolutely no sex. So... whether or not that mission was accomplished is up to the reader I suppose. I'm just tired of randomly stumbling upon sex in fanfictions when I'm not expecting it. And generally it all just seems the same. So I just wanted to try.
On a side note, PLEASE if you have a moment take the time to vote on the polls I have up. I would really appreciate your input. They can be found on my bio page (or maybe under polls?). Thank you.
Orihime knew what was coming when he grit his teeth and set his jaw and got that look in his eyes. She loved that look. It brought out every defined line in his face. It made his eyes sharp, determined. It made his vibrant hair seem even more vibrant. She wasn't sure how she could ever describe that look if pressured to. It was hungry. It was manly. It was all-encompassing. Almost as if, to her, if all of time faded away that look would still be there.
She remembered the first time she'd seen it. The mix of emotions she felt was like a recipe of ingredients too weird even for her. Confusion- she'd never seen that look before. She thought she knew all of his looks. Excitement- a new look? What could it mean? Would she learn yet another new thing about him? Arousal- it was dizzying, confusing. She'd felt things like this before, but... no, not like this before. He looked good, looking at her like that. She wanted him to look at her like that. She wanted him... and to be honest it scared her a little bit. So yes, a little bit of fear, too. But she had quickly learned it wasn't something to be afraid of. It didn't merit fear like a horror movie, it provoked feelings like a thriller. Tension, excitement... not knowing what was coming or when, but knowing that something, something was coming.
When he got that look his gaze made her feel two inches tall. Like she was dwindling as he became the whole world. Like he could devour her whole if he wanted to. The feeling that she was the only thing that existed- no matter how insignificantly small next to him- made her feel weak; made her feel vulnerable. But at the same time, she fell into those eyes so quickly she didn't have time to feel weak or afraid. He was there, giving her that look, and it was the safest most warm feeling in the world.
And then he would speak her name. In that impossibly low, impossibly alluring voice, he would speak her name. It was full of gravel and honey and smooth as silk and sharp as a blade. And suddenly she was not only two inches tall but also made of chocolate. His voice was infatuating, engrossing; it surrounded her more thickly than the air and she gladly drowned in it. Everything was lax as it was tight. Everything was salty and sweet. Everything was tremulousness and readiness.
And then he put his hands on her. Usually on her face. Usually on her hair. Usually on her back. Usually on her neck and shoulder. It didn't matter where. Anywhere, everywhere. And the chocolate she had become melted into his hands. And his look, that look, continued as she crumbled and slid and melted with him.