Chapter Text
Lady Rukia supposes—she supposes—there are no accidents in second kisses, in secret moonlit walks willingly taken in the quiet of the night, in consciously seeking.
There is a destination in mind, and Ichigo readily opens his shoji.
Rukia does not know—
Rukia does not know how everything else unfolds after he pulls her in: Rukia in Ichigo's arms, Ichigo's hand at the back of Rukia's head, Rukia gracefully but inexperienced in kissing the seams of Ichigo's mouth, Ichigo lifting Rukia up, Rukia in Ichigo's bed, Ichigo easing himself on top of Rukia's body, Rukia desperately pulling Ichigo closer, Ichigo kissing Rukia deeply.
The wordless, physical admission of their attraction the night before went inevitable. Their pile of clothes was a vivid mix of rustling black and white in her memory, and when he pressed himself to her and held her head steady so he could kiss her better, she felt then: Ichigo, and something else.
Lady Rukia could not understand the specifics yet but there are very powerful things pulling her back to him.
On his bed, Rukia only has his face and eyes—deep, deep amber—to look at before he kisses her back, more aggressive and no longer hesitant or held by inhibitions, as if he is free to breathe her name this time.
Ichigo has one hand on the side of her face. He pauses, and looks down on her, a disheveled woman in a hastily tied white yukata, hair in disarray and held by mismatched hair pins, and her lips, bitten red. On her neck, and further down her collarbones, are small mottling bitemarks, all his from the night before. His thumb lightly caresses her cheek and settles on her lower lip. His heart is overflowing with hope and anticipation—“You came back.”
Her soft hands on his back nudge him lower and lower, and he could feel the heat between her thighs, and her eyes calling to him, these are conversations enough.
“I was afraid that I hurt you.”
Ichigo takes the pins off her hair with one hand, and then delicately pushes her yukata down just below her breasts. Rukia doesn’t feel as shy and naked.
“You did not,” she whispers back.
“Good.”
Rukia watches him trace her chest with open-mouthed kisses as he delights in her familiar skin. She pulls on his hair hard the next moment when she feels his warmth over her breasts, urging him to nip harder and lick better.
Sensing her impatience, Ichigo pacifies her through another kiss in the mouth, wetter, and his tongue drawing hers out.
Rukia blindly pulls on his hakama’s sash and traces the outline of his growing bulge. Ichigo groans against her mouth. She once thought of a man's body as something of a vulgar subject when she was younger, as were the very strict lectures of her most conservative tutors: she must know how to please but only her husband.
Ichigo is neither her husband nor a betrothed. And yet he showed her how and where to touch him. He drew her hand to his chest, to where his heart beats the strongest, and let her finger roam, to discover for herself where his skin felt smooth, battle-scarred, and hard. And Rukia, always learning and learning and learning, drew pleasure in mapping his body.
Rukia rubs him—still clothed, throbbing, and already very hard for her.
He rests his forehead against hers, keeping his eyes closed and his elbows propped up, minding himself not to fall on her smaller body. He almost pleads, "Lady…you—"
It is almost a pained expression, Rukia observes.
His breathing is hard and laborious, and she is a little braver now and a lot more curious, so she pulls harder on his hakama, loosens the sash, slips inside, and wraps her hand around his erection. Rukia —Ichigo collapses onto her, unable to bear what she's doing but careful not to crush her with his weight. He buries his head on her neck, taking her smell and lightly kissing whatever part of her he could.
“Ichigo,” she asks him quietly, her other arm going around his neck. She still has her hand wrapped around his cock snugly, hard and leaking with anticipation. “Do you remember last night? I…like what you did with your mouth…my legs, when…”
“Is that—is that what you want?” Ichigo struggles to be coherent, and when he opens his eyes; she looks so beautiful, innocently, shyly asking him to put his mouth between her legs and pleasure her with his tongue.
“Yes.”
Ichigo pushes himself upright and removes his gi. He is dark-eyed and handsome even in the dark, when the winter breeze is diminishing and the silverlight that outlines the ocean skies is fading. Rukia looks at him, these are not his colors but she admires him nonetheless.
It's easy to span her waist with both of his hands. Ichigo pulls her to him at the edge of his bed, puts one leg over his shoulder, steadies her, and—after a quick look of reassurance for her, go on, please —drags his tongue over her slit slowly.
"Oh," Rukia manages, eyes tightly shut.
Rukia is so soft and surprisingly yielding. Ichigo presses harder and longer, makes her a lot wetter until his tongue slides easily in and out of her and deeper.
Ichigo thought plenty of her, he did not think much of anything else since this morning when she left him reeling and wondering if she would respond to him the same intimate way if he kissed her long ago.
Rukia starts pulling on his hair harder when he finds her spot. He brings her closer, she comes pleasantly, feeling the pointed vibrations between her legs with his mouth still over her—it is only the first for the night.
"Ichigo," Rukia pleads softly, when he makes a move to stand up. He leaves her wanting; the need between her legs is not yet quite satisfied.
“We have all night,” he promises her, a bit wickedly. Rukia twists beneath him.
Ichigo discards the rest of his hakama. He thinks about last night, it was mostly about their angry first kiss, the softer kisses that follow, quiet admissions, are you sure? and the whispers of their names .
"Ichigo, Ichigo—" she calls.
He brings her forward, and holds her hands carefully and then puts his arms around her waist, and then brings her with him when he sits on the edge of the bed. He makes her straddle him. Rukia blushes at how hard he is.
"Rukia…” Ichigo says, a little soothingly, “I like you like this.” He positions her legs around his waist, tucks a lock of hair behind her ear, and lifts her chin. "Are you ready for me?" He asks softly.
Rukia looks him in the eyes; she's very trusting at this moment. She nods lightly.
Ichigo lines himself at her entrance, holds on to her thighs, and with one deep breath, pushes inside her.
Rukia draws her breath in anticipation. She holds onto his shoulders tight, her fingernails leaving marks. His skin is hot, and she could feel his bare chest against hers; she could almost hear his heartbeat.
Ichigo holds her waist steady while she breathes shallowly, and slowly eases herself down—a little more force—and then takes him halfway in.
It is difficult to take someone of his size even for a second time. "Please," she says, some time after, a few tears form on her eyes. He is very big inside her, and it still hurts.
Ichigo quickly lets go of her waist and frames her face, and kisses her soothingly. Rukia, he keeps saying softly as he slides slowly and deeper.
He begins to move, carefully lifting her a few notches and back, letting her get used to his girth again. Her eyes are closed, and she makes little whimpers that he finds irresistible. He is hard, and it feels unbearably tight inside her.
It takes Ichigo a few moments to start moving at a faster pace. It causes her to lean closer to him, her breasts pressed-close against his chest.
Rukia remembers his bed—is this the way it is now? She wonders. She remembers his bed and thinks of their first night and the argument that preceded it; she sees the bright full moon and thinks of their trysts; she sees him and—and—
Rukia has not loved before or if this is already such a feeling, but even so, she does not know what to do with the affection in her heart that suddenly surfaced. The heart is a small thing, a little more than the size of a clenched fist, how can it hide such an immense feeling?
Rukia wraps her arms around his neck, and she takes to the junction of his shoulder and neck, nipping the skin that's surprisingly sensitive, then she moves to his earlobe. Ichigo, in return, presses panting kisses on the side of her head and palms her breasts, perky and full to his touch.
Then he slowly lies down, leaving her on top of him and in control. He shifts his hands on her thighs to keep her balanced and fixes his eyes on her face and body, content on watching her make those little expressions and take him however she likes.
Rukia looks down on him, graces him with a beautiful blush, then puts her palms flat on his chest, touching him intimately and kneading while she bounces on his hips. “Ichigo, I-!” she cries out.
From the gentle slope of her breasts, the dip in her waist, and all the ways she’s making his body hers—he keeps looking, perhaps a lot more helpless than he thought.
Ichigo hisses when her hips shift and grind down particularly hard on him, “Rukia!”
He grabs her waist tighter with both hands as she takes him deeper and harder again and starts meeting her with his thrusts, stronger, fuller, and urging her to go on and wreck him.
He grits, "Come for me.”
Rukia, in between sharp huffs, “I-” She is very close.
Ichigo holds her closer, chasing their release. When she comes, he soothes her until her tremors stop.
He cradles her head, massages her back, and whispers many things to her. He comes soon after, the tension is released and he comes inside her. There’s a bit of pain when he pulls out of her. But then, there are a lot of kisses, to her cheeks, eyes, and lips that she hazily responds to, he is a good lover—is everything she could remember.
It’s still a few hours before sunrise. Ichigo keeps Rukia warm in bed with him; she’s draped in his blanket, resting her head on his chest.
It is a little bit lighter. Rukia seems more of a human than a clan princess during these moments, she responds to his touches, and him, more carefree and happier than an angry warlord.
These are also little secrets:
“Do you think you can forget about me?” Ichigo asks her quietly, just as when she is falling asleep. “Even if you marry a good man, you will still think of me.”