A/N:Disclaimer: EXTREMELY vague allusions to past sexual harassment - it is not described in detail and lasts about only a sentence long, begins with "It was the most" and ends with "gangster," if you'd like to skip! Check the bottom of the chapter for a detailed warning!
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Ulquiorra walked the streets of east New York with both his hands in his pockets. For today's mission, he had opted to venture out alone, preferring his soldier Yammy to take over his other duties. It would be useful for Yammy to learn the ropes. With the dynamics of their institution shaking up, soldiers would not remain soldiers forever and Aizen would never promote someone who preferred his brawns over his brains.
Nevertheless, despite being alone, Ulquiorra wasn't afraid. On his hip sat his holster, and on his torso sat a snug vest that would protect him from bullets or knives. He had watched his back the entire way here. Being in enemy territory called for such precautionary measures.
On one of the avenues sat Highwell Hall, the formidable new business Ichigo Kurosaki had set up. It was evident that Grimmjow's attack had only been a dent on the place's profits. The windows were sleek and clean but shuttered for the night. The paint was new. There was a warm, yellowish glow that peeked out from under the blinds — and the telltale muffle of music and conversation. A bouncer stood at the door, glancing at Ulquiorra warily.
Ulquiorra quickly stepped away and walked on, taking great care to seem incurious. Eventually, he arrived at a side street where the real entrance sat. Spare a rectangular shaped hole for communication, the door was solid concrete.
Ulquiorra rapped his knuckles against it, as hard as he could.
The vague lower half of a human face appeared through the hole — dry lips and a peppered beard. "Password?"
Ulquiorra blinked. It was such a simple protocol, yet so effective. One did not need to shell out thousands of dollars in protection money — and then a few thousand more to ensure the guards' loyalty. Men like Aizen were big enough to operate on tangible things like money. The Kurosaki crew seemed to run on trust. Ulquiorra's most educated guess was that only people in their inner circle had the passwords. Friends and friends of friends. Secrets were kept because the only people who drank at establishments like these were people who had things to hide.
Of course, the people who drank at Aizen's club were no different. But where Aizen's patrons were policemen and senators with a reputation to protect, Ulquiorra suspected that Ichigo's belonged to the fringes of society. The outcasts — those that society merely tolerated.
What motivated them to keep the secret? Solidarity? A sense of oneness in their otherness? Ulquiorra frowned. Was such a feeble notion enough to motivate an entire group of customers into being tight-lipped?
"Password!" the gruff voice repeated, but Ulquiorra was already heading away. He was almost angry. A protocol of trust? The thought was laughable. Did they believe that love and trust would keep out the enemy? No fortress was impenetrable.
A bustle of noise snapped Ulquiorra out of his rage. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a woman step out of the main double-doors, her heels clicking on the pavement. Though Ulquiorra was standing a good twenty feet away, he narrowed his eyes. He recognized her.
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Then
" — we'll have to talk more!" Don Baraggan wheezed, clapping Aizen on the shoulder on his way out.
Ulquiorra said nothing but bent over a set of drawers and withdrew a fresh handkerchief. Aizen came back into the office soon, his face murderous with disgust. Although Ulquiorra hadn't been working here long, he knew the man detested being touched by those he considered beneath him.
Wordlessly, he stretched the napkin in Aizen's direction.
To his surprise, Aizen's eyes widened. Then, his countenance turned amused as he accepted the handkerchief to wipe his shoulder. "Ah. Thank you…"
"Ulquiorra Cifer," Ulquiorra replied, for there was no reason for Aizen to remember the name of a mere soldier.
"Ulquiorra Cifer," Aizen repeated with interest. "A boy your age should be out on the frontlines with a bayonet in hand, no?"
"I don't believe in the cause," Ulquiorra replied stonily.
His reply seemed to amuse Aizen further. "A pacifist, joining my organization?"
"The pacifist cause doesn't interest me either."
Aizen raised a brow. "Tell me, Ulquiorra Cifer. What cause do you believe in?"
Ulquiorra wet his lips nervously. "I am not sure. I joined your organization in hopes that I would find it."
Aizen smiled, wrapping one arm around Ulquiorra's shoulder.
In the months that followed, Aizen showed Ulquiorra everything — the business, the behind-the-scenes, the very strings that made up their entire world. To rule this kingdom, one would have to know what threads to pull — and when. With Gin Ichimaru off at the battlefield, Aizen had taken Ulquiorra in like a second son.
It was common knowledge around the organization that Aizen had tried to protect Gin from the draft, but ultimately — for reasons unknown — Gin had agreed to fight anyway.
"Gin is talented, but misguided. When he returns, I will give him co-consigliere with Tosen," Aizen often explained. "The responsibility should help him become serious. As of yet, he has many distractions clouding him from his mission."
One of the distractions visited the organization frequently — a blonde woman who called herself Rangiku Matsumoto. At a time when women needed chaperones with them in public society, Rangiku cohabited with Gin quite freely. In their childhood, they had moved around a lot due to a lack of money. And in adulthood, they often had to move due to Gin's activities with the mob. Because of this, because they had no permanent address, she came to the office to send her letters — and receive them.
She was a bold woman in many ways, but everyone knew her heart was soft for Gin Ichimaru. In fact, Aizen resented her for it, but when she visited, he took great pains not to show it.
"Did you get anything from him today?" she would ask, her eyes stormy and concerned. It was always a variation of the same few questions: Have you heard from him? Did he write back? Do you think my letters went through?
Of course, Aizen's answers were always the same. I'm afraid not, but we must have hope, or I hear they'll be pulling his contingent out any day now, but it's hard to be sure.
Once she left, he'd say, "Burn them."
Then, Ulquiorra would open two drawers — one with Rangiku's unsent letters, and the other with Gin's letters to Aizen — asking after Rangiku. Aizen had replied to the latter of course — I'm afraid I haven't heard from her, or I'm sorry, Gin, but she hasn't been stopping by.
"Of course, sir," Ulquiorra would reply and burn them.
When Gin returned from his tour, he had been furious, heartbroken, and mad with rage. He had threatened to kill anyone who had gotten in the way of him and Rangiku — any man that had crept into her heart while he was away.
"Now, now Gin," Aizen had consoled soothingly, rubbing his shoulders. "Women will come and go, but there's work to be done. Forget your heart's sorrows; they serve no purpose in your greater battle."
Gin's face had darkened, but he complied. He soon moved into the quarters permanently, cutting off ties with the outside world. And as he moved up from capo to consigliere, a new position opened for Ulquiorra, who was quickly learning the ropes as the days went by. The organization grew, and Gin did his best to cope. He killed mercilessly, took joy in it and Aizen said nothing because he did it on Aizen's orders, under Aizen's command.
Then, one day, Rangiku had turned up at the office, confused and heartbroken that he hadn't notified her of his return.
And Gin — fully Aizen's soldier by then — had coldly rejected her.
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Now
As he watched Rangiku, Ulquiorra could only wonder what the woman thought of Gin now. Of course, Gin himself had heard that she spent her days here — at Kurosaki's establishment — and hadn't been pleased. For his former flame to take up refuge with a rival…Ulquiorra stopped that line of thought, struck by the sharp clarity of an idea.
Immediately, he strode over to a payphone and flung open its wooden door to dial a number.
"Yammy," he said at the first sign that someone had received the call. "Come down to the east bank. I need your help with something."
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Orihime was fascinated by the lovely chaos that accompanied weddings.
On the morning Mr and soon-to-be-Mrs Unagiya were to exchange vows, she spent much of her time in the parlor helping the bride get ready while everyone else buzzed busily in the background.
Ichigo had booked a lovely private villa for the wedding, and the entire family had gotten down here the previous day to make arrangements. Like Ichigo had warned, there were photographers and police, but Ichigo hadn't let any of them near her, shielding her with his body as they had arrived.
Inside, the place was beautiful and vividly green. The wedding would take place on a charming courtyard outdoors, while the villa held accommodation for whoever would be staying the night. While Orihime hadn't gotten much of a chance to explore her room, she knew she would be sharing it with Ichigo. It would be the first time they'd be staying somewhere together for a whole night and the thought made her warm.
That night, on her bed, Ichigo had kissed her and had not stopped kissing her as he peeled the clothes away from her body. It was the most she had ever let a man touch her — by choice — and the ritual had awakened something in her, a yearning that she never thought was possible. His fingers glided where others had grabbed, his eyes asked for permission where others assumed it was a given, and when his body entered hers for the first time, he was not an animal, but a man who loved her. It was ironic. She'd been around animals masquerading as civilized men all her life, but the one who respected her the most had been a gangster.
Either way, the atmosphere of the wedding combined with the thought of sharing a room with him made her feel funny.
"I know you must think it's ridiculous, me getting married at my age…" Ikumi began, adjusting the pendant of her necklace until it sat neatly in place. When her eyes caught Orihime's in the mirror, Orihime smiled.
"Not at all!" she replied, draping a sheer white caplet around Ikumi's shoulders. "I think it's rather wonderful. You deserve this."
"Well, it's certainly going to be a big change." Ikumi sighed. "Did Ichigo tell you we were considering moving to Manhattan?"
Orihime nodded. He had mentioned it briefly. He himself was house-hunting, now that he'd saved enough for a proper place of his own, but the idea of the family growing apart was probably going to take some getting used to. Ikumi had been in the Kurosaki children's lives for so long, after all.
"He said he'd be looking for a house big enough for plenty of guests, so I'm sure you'll be visiting him sooner than you think." Orihime smiled, letting her hands settle on Ikumi's shoulders.
"Visiting both of you, you mean," Ikumi replied, holding onto one of Orihime's hands. She raised an incredulous brow at Orihime's confused expression. "Oh, you sweet little thing. You two have been serious for a few months now; didn't it occur to you that he'd be thinking of you two settling down in a place of your own?"
Orihime's eyes widened. "But…!" She thought back to her dates with Ichigo, where he had casually explained that he was looking for a bigger place for his family. He'd nonchalantly asked her what kind of house she liked, what kind of house she'd always dreamt of living in when she was growing up, and she had just assumed he was making conversation. The possibility that he was planning a future with her…
"You're adorable." Ikumi reached up and pinched her cheek, making Orihime flush. Perhaps it was the thoughts she was having earlier, but Orihime suddenly felt a strange longing for Ichigo, yet the desire to run away very far — should she see him. It was not a feeling she was used to.
A hard knock against the door made them jump.
"Come in!" Orihime called over her shoulder.
The door creaked open and Ichigo stepped through, already ready in his fine-pressed gray suit, a size tighter since he usually preferred body-fitting clothes. It was like her very thoughts had manifested him, a vision from her most pleasant dreams.
"The photographers are ready for you," he told Ikumi, raising a brow at Orihime's dreamy expression.
Ikumi nodded and slowly stood up. Orihime snapped out of her haze to help Ikumi slide her gloves on, then ran a hand over the folds of her dress to make sure she wouldn't trip on her way out.
"Good luck." She pressed a kiss to Ikumi's cheek, hugging her lightly. Ikumi embraced her in return, then began making her way out of the room while Ichigo and Orihime followed her from a distance.
Ichigo's face softened when he glanced at Orihime, his eyes skimming over her pink bridesmaid dress in appreciation. "You look good," he told her.
Orihime smiled. "You look good."
Ichigo shook his head, but she noticed the corners of his lips lift up. As they stepped outside, Orihime marveled at the beautiful color and life that she noticed around the courtyard. The children ran around the fountain with little care for getting their clothes dirty. Guests chatted idly, their fancy clothes glittering under the sunlight. Ichigo's crew was off to the side, smoking, but they all raised a hand to wave at her nonetheless. She waved back, grinning.
"Finally, you're here," Karin said flatly. "It's time for pictures."
They took a few pictures as a group, and then broke off into smaller groups as the photographers kept asking for more. One with just the ladies, one with just the couples, one with all the kids, one without…Orihime noticed Ichigo getting impatient, his eyes scanning the rows of guests for familiar faces. It took her squeezing his hand for him to finally give the camera a small smile, his hand settled comfortably on her waist.
Eventually, Chad came up to Ichigo and whispered something in his ear. Ichigo nodded.
"I've got to go," he told Orihime, pressing an apologetic kiss to her cheek. "Save a seat for me."
He stepped off the courtyard and headed into the crowd, immediately ambushed by one person or another, waiting to talk to him.
"Well, that's our brother for you," Karin muttered, shaking her head. "You get him as long as you get him."
Meanwhile, Orihime broke away to do some socializing herself. A lot of people she recognized were here, from the local grocer to the butcher to the foot soldiers who worked for Ichigo. They asked after the bar and after Ichigo, treating her warmly as she passed them by. She in turn asked after their children and their businesses, and then thanked them for coming, delighted to see so many people from their neighborhood showing up for the occasion. Every now and then, she'd cross Nel or Kaoru or Yuichi, who were too distracted in their play to reply more than a single word in greeting to her. Yuzu and Ikumi had been worried that their clothes would be soiled, but Ichigo had said, "Leave them be, they're kids," and that was exactly what they had done.
Orihime laughed fondly. They would have to coerce Nel into a bath later, but knowing her, she would refuse to do it unless Ichigo or Pesche or Dondochakka agreed to sit with her.
Soon, she found herself coming up to Chad and Uryu, who were standing against a pillar and smoking.
"...still waiting outside," she heard Uryu say once she was within earshot. "I'm just waiting for Ichigo to come back here so we can decide what to do."
"What's up?" Orihime asked.
"Cops and photographers," Chad replied. "Some of them aren't leaving."
Uryu shook his head. "They're probably looking for some extra. They always do this."
Orihime glanced through the vines and the gate and there they were, standing around with their cars and their notepads. It was strange. Inside, their world was so idyllic it was easy to forget who they were and what they did.
"Ichigo sure is busy, huh," Orihime remarked sympathetically. The last time she saw him, a union leader had escorted him off towards the private gallery to talk. By the time he came out, one of the caterers had taken him by the elbow and led him elsewhere.
"He does it to himself," Uryu scolded. "This is what happens when you lend a listening ear to each and every problem, no matter how small."
"That doesn't sound so bad," Orihime said softly, laughing at Uryu's disgruntled expression.
"And you don't actually sound mad," Chad added, making her laugh harder.
Uryu rolled his eyes, but the corners of his mouth softened. For all his cool detachment, he too understood the importance of peace in the community — just as she, Chad, and of course, Ichigo did.
Later, just as they were about to head to their table, Ichigo arrived, wiping his sweat-flushed face with a napkin. "What did I miss?"
"The pests are still waiting outside," Uryu remarked.
Ichigo withdrew some money from his front pocket and thrust it towards Uryu. "Tell 'em to fuck off."
Uryu nodded and left, leaving Ichigo, Orihime and Chad free to head to their table together. Though they sat way out of the way, many people shot Ichigo furtive looks, but he seemed purposefully oblivious to most of it. Eventually, a woman entered Orihime's line of sight — short and bulky, but with an air of importance. Her hair was short, dark, and when her eye caught Ichigo's she held up her cigar as if to say goodbye. There was a man behind her who looked just like her, but Orihime was fascinated and couldn't keep her eyes peeled away from the woman for too long.
"Who's that?" she asked Ichigo, hearing the wonder in her own voice.
Ichigo nodded back at the woman but spoke to Orihime, "Kukaku Shiba, from Shiba Motors. They used to run a sizable chunk of New York back in the day, but Aizen pushed them out." He pressed his lips into a troubled frown. "We helped them set up shop in New Jersey a few years ago."
Orihime's eyes turned into saucers as she gaped. "The owner of Shiba Motors used to be a gangster?!"
Ichigo gave her a small smile. "Used to be. They got out."
"What did she want?" Chad asked.
Ichigo turned to him. "I called them. I'm trying to convince them to buy the auto shop from us so they can have one foot in New York again, but as long as Aizen's here, they don't want to hear about it." Ichigo's frown returned, the way it usually did whenever they discussed Aizen off late. Orihime knew Ichigo had taken Commissioner Kuchiki's words to heart and that he was conflicted about what to do. "I don't like the reputation New York's gotten now, because of them."
"You regret giving Aizen amnesty over the distillery fires?" Chad asked carefully.
Ichigo blew out a heavy breath. "No. I don't want any gang wars if we can help it — I still stand by that." Ichigo's voice softened when Nel ran past their table. His statement warmed Orihime considerably, for reckless violence was something she could not condone in good conscience either.
Chad left to go find Uryu, leaving Ichigo and Orihime alone as they watched Mr and Mrs Ikumi have their first dance.
"Having a good time?" Ichigo gently nudged her cheek with his fist.
Orihime tore her gaze away from the couple. "Very," Orihime replied happily, but she couldn't hold his eyes. Her desire for him had been on the back of her mind all day, and having him touch her like this was a wonderful thrill. She shoved it aside. "Are you? This is the first time you've had a chance to sit down all day."
Ichigo scoffed. "I'm fine. It's just business."
Still, she knew from the tense lines of his face that he had a lot on his mind — as he often did.
"Be right back," she mouthed and stood up, pushing through a few people towards the catering tables. The cake Ikumi and her husband had cut earlier had been sliced evenly, waiting to be distributed. Orihime picked up one plate, then gestured at a waiter to plop a slice onto it. "Thank you!"
When she returned, Ichigo raised his brows.
"I brought you some cake!"
Ichigo immediately straightened in protest. "Orihime, you shouldn't have—"
"Eat," she said firmly but sweetly. "You deserve a little treat."
Ichigo looked amused but held up a spoon anyway to slice through the cake. Uryu and Chad returned, taking their place beside Ichigo and Orihime.
"They're gone," Uryu reported, dusting his hands, then frowned. "Where did you get that?"
"Orihime got me some," Ichigo bragged. Then, "Orihime, why didn't you get some for yourself?"
Orihime perked up. "I forgot!" However, when she turned, a thick queue had begun forming around the food tables. "Oh darn it all!" She turned her pleading eyes to Ichigo, suddenly reminded of her intense hunger now that he'd mentioned it. The heat of the day and all the socializing from earlier made the little slice of cake seem very appealing. And, of course, one could never forget her ever-present sweet tooth. "Ichigo, can I have some of yours?"
Ichigo guarded his slice and teased, "I thought you got this for me."
Orihime huffed, crossing her arms. "You are so unfair."
"You truly are a scoundrel for making a lady bring you cake and then refusing to give her any," Uryu scolded. "Especially when I know you don't have a single sweet tooth."
"He's right, you know," Chad added when Ichigo flipped him off.
Ichigo grumbled, but on the inside he was wildly pleased by her puffed-up reaction. One could read Orihime through her face alone, for it was as explosive and expressive as a firecracker.
"Here." He slid his plate towards Orihime and she instantly forgot to be mad at him, her eyes lighting up when she regarded the cake.
"Thank you," she said happily, cutting down a small portion and pushing the spoon into her mouth. Ichigo watched the joy spread on her face upon tasting the cake, the content sigh she let out. "It's so good! Here." She tried to slide it back towards him, but he held his arm out to block her.
"Finish it."
"But you said—"
"Finish it, Orihime," he said softly. "I want you to have it."
Orihime flushed, immensely pleased by his consideration of her as they smiled at each other.
Uryu rolled his eyes and begged the Lord to take him now.
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Towards the end of the evening, Ichigo and Orihime retired to their room in the north end of the villa. Since Ikumi and her husband were past the age of misadventure, there were no after-parties or loud, drunken shenanigans. Those among their guests who were bachelors or committed but unmarried broke away for their own private entertainments, but Ichigo and Orihime were happy to get some peace and quiet.
As Orihime dressed down, she couldn't help but glance at Ichigo, who was resting on the bed with both hands under his head. Wearing just his pajama bottoms, he looked casual and strangely vulnerable — with none of the stern authority he held in his usual suits. His gun was kept aside in a drawer. He looked young. Orihime felt terribly fond of him at that moment and attempted to escape it by heading to the bathroom.
And what a marvelous bathroom it was. Having grown up without much, Orihime couldn't help but run a hand over the smooth marble tops and the gold-colored lining that ran along the mirrors and sills. Ichigo had spent a generous amount of money in booking such a location for the woman he considered a surrogate older sister. And not once had he made a mention of the money spent or the time taken. Kindness came easier to him than it did most, but this was a step above kindness. It was love. Ichigo Kurosaki could deny it all he wanted, but there was no man who went greater lengths than he did for the ones he loved.
Orihime glanced at herself in the mirror, at the high color in her cheeks and the bright look in her eyes, and took a moment to steady herself. She only needed to recall the warmth of Ichigo's fingers on her neck, of his lips on hers to feel heat flash through her again, and then she was murmuring, a little hesitantly, "Ichigo?"
She heard a pause, and then Ichigo's feet on the carpet grew closer, matching the strong, rapid beat of her heart.
He stopped just outside the door. "Orihime? Did you call me?"
Orihime squeezed her eyes shut, wondering if she was bold enough to do this. "Did you um." Her voice was soft, too soft. She bit her lip, tilting her head towards the doorway. "Do you want to come inside?"
The door opened with a soft creak and Ichigo stepped in, still dressed down to his pajama bottoms and bare chest, just as she'd left him. His eyes were dark, desirous and by the time she was reaching for him, he was already reaching for her, his strong arms wrapping around her waist as their mouths crashed into each other.
"Are you tired?" she breathed, pulling back just enough to look at his face.
"Not for this," Ichigo admitted, diving back in to kiss her.
Orihime sighed, standing on tiptoes to run her hands over his body. Ichigo's skin was hot, muscled, riddled with scars, and Orihime was fascinated as her fingers swam over every ridge and bump. Eventually, her hands landed in his hair, while his own fingers bunched up her dress and ran up her bare thighs.
"Were you waiting for me?" Ichigo asked, letting her hands lead him to her neck.
Orihime's mouth fell open when she felt his teeth graze her soft skin. "Yes." She didn't even remember the question. She was barely in control of her own body, stumbling backwards as he peeled her dress over her head and threw it aside.
In the shower, they took their time, tongues gliding slow and dirty as they lathered each other with soap. Had Ichigo not been holding her, Orihime was sure she would have fainted from desire alone, but his arm around her waist was enough to buoy her, to hold her in place as she felt him, stiff and hard against her stomach. Ichigo was taller than her, but they fit comfortably together, their chests heaving as they spread soap over each others' bodies. Everything was slick and slippery, but Ichigo's hands were firm as they traced the curves of her body, the slightest groans escaping him when her tongue curled against his.
"Let me get your hair," she whispered as she pulled away, and he blinked. Then, he bowed so she could wash off the soapy foam with her hands. The action pushed him closer, close enough for him to bury his face into her neck. Orihime laughed softly and held onto his arms, accepting his kisses to her neck, her cheek, her face and then her mouth again, slow and indulgent. Their playfulness instantly vanished, leaving them panting with a different kind of desperation.
When Orihime made a low, keening noise, he finally washed off the last few suds on her body with warm water and then shut the shower off.
Orihime stepped away so she could wipe the water from her face and eyes.
"You okay?" Ichigo asked, coming closer until she was within reach. He put one arm around her shoulder, breathing deeply into the back of her head, as if checking in with her.
"Yes," she whispered, turning over her shoulder, "please, let's just." She squeezed his hand, as if to urge him on.
Ichigo complied, lowering his hand to cup her breast, rolling a single, tight nipple between his fingers. Orihime trembled, feeling the pleasure sink straight to the heat between her legs.
"You're so soft," he groaned, breathing hard when his erection rubbed up against her. "Do you want me to take you to bed?"
Orihime shook her head vehemently. She didn't know if she would be able to wait that long. He continued to play with her perked nipple a little longer. When his long fingers finally came down to rub at her slit, she cried, bracing her hands on the tiles in front of her.
Ichigo pushed aside her wet hair and kissed her neck, his fingers searching absently for the little nub that gave her pleasure. The slow, curious stroke of his fingers made her dizzy, eyes seeing spots over the steam of the bathroom.
"Am I there yet?" he asked, his voice low and deep in her ear. Orihime could have cried at the tenderness in his voice, but the pleasure took over and she held his wrist, encouraging him to go deeper.
"It's good," she told him, "It's so good, I just need—"
Just when Orihime was about to give up and help him out, she felt the first flash of lightning surge through her body as his fingertips finally caught onto the little nub. She nearly screamed, but then Ichigo turned her over and captured her mouth with his again. The move pushed them both against the wall, and Ichigo held one of her thighs up, his erection lining up against her entrance. They watched each other, Orihime's entire body still burning from her first release. Then, he thrust up into her, the slow push of his hips making her cry out. Her fingers were nearly numb at this point from holding onto him, but he was inside her and the last thing she wanted was to stop. She pushed back, closing her eyes as their bodies joined and fully stretched her. "Oh, Ichigo."
"You wanna go again?" Ichigo muttered, his voice straining from the pleasure of pushing into her and pulling out. Orihime leaned herself fully against the wall and nodded, letting him steal a kiss from her mouth as he circled her pulsating nub again, and again with one hand while he twisted her nipple with the other. "You're a greedy girl." He chuckled in her ear, smiling when she frowned in protest. "I wish you could see your face right now."
Orihime whimpered — not at anything particularly physical, but at the warmth and teasing affection in his voice. With one last rub, she felt her body let go, a fierce rush of pleasure coursing through her as she gasped loudly. Ichigo continued to hold her in place and thrust into her, even as her knees wobbled from the strength of her pleasure. Then, he came with a low grunt, his hips finally slowing down until he was completely still inside her. Orihime finally let her leg come down from where it was resting against the rim of the bathtub, letting herself breathe into the shampoo scent of his hair.
They stayed that way for an inordinate amount of time, then slowly began peeling away from each other.
"Do you think anyone heard us?" Orihime asked a little later when they exited the bathroom together, her face pink and timid. With her back to him, she began putting her night gown back on.
"The walls are pretty thick," Ichigo said dryly. "Besides, I'm sure they're all up doing the same thing. It's a wedding."
Orihime giggled. How inappropriate.
"Do you want one?" She held up a towel as she dried her hair. "They're so soft."
Ichigo shook his head. He reached around and pulled his shorts back up, then sank into the bed with a satisfied groan. Orihime gave her hair a few stern wipes, then let it fall back onto the tops of her shoulders. Despite their earlier activities in the shower, she still felt a little shy about sharing a bed with him. However, when he glanced up at her and raised a brow, she decided to set aside the cloth and slide in anyway.
"Thank you for inviting me today." She snuggled under his chin, sighing happily when his hand came around her back. "I had a lot of fun."
He hummed lightly, stroking the back of her head with one hand.
"It felt good," she confessed, then, a little quieter, "Us, I mean."
Ichigo held her chin up gently and pressed his mouth to hers in a slow, soft kiss. By the time they parted, Orihime's face was warm again.
"You're so good at that," she remarked. "You're like a casanova."
Ichigo frowned. "I'm not," he said. "I've only ever been with one other girl — other than you I mean, and that was before the war."
"Really?" Orihime's eyes lit up in curiosity.
"Yeah."
"What's she doing now?"
Ichigo shrugged. "I dunno. Probably married or something. I was a kid, it was a long time ago," he explained.
"But Ichigo!" she protested. "Aren't you curious at all about how her life turned out?"
"No." He tapped her forehead lightly. "You just made love to me less than an hour ago and now you want me to go running off to another girl?"
Orihime frowned. "I don't want you to go running off, I was just—I don't know." She threw her hands up in the air. "Oh, I don't even know what I'm saying anymore, let's just go to sleep."
"That's a good idea." He stretched over to turn out the lights.
"Goodnight, Ichigo." Orihime kissed his cheek when he returned, settling her head under his neck.
"Goodnight sweetheart," he muttered, then let sleep pull them under.
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A/N: Hello! In the chapter, Orihime recalls inappropriate advances from men in the bar, when she used to work for Mr Iwao, but this is not described in graphic detail and only *alludes* to events that took place before Chapter 1!
