Under a Sky of Lights

BY : c0p13r
Category: Bleach > Het - Male/Female
Dragon prints: 3619
Disclaimer: I don't own 'Bleach' and I make no money off of this story

Under a Sky of Lights


            They were going somewhere.  They wouldn’t say much more than that, but Tatsuki knew it was somewhere important and somewhere they feared for her to follow.  It made sense, she thought dismissively, regarding her broken arm with a glance.  If where they were going was so important that they had to, and so dangerous that they were secretive about it, who was she to pry?

            Yet it hurt that Orihime didn’t tell her.  Didn’t she trust her best friend?  There were strange, foggy visions that Tatsuki remembered as vague dreams.  Classmates attacking her…  Fairies in the wind…  An octopus?  One that tasted like dirt and onion, she weirdly recalled.

            Ichigo, however, he was always reserved with her; never spoke outright about his feelings or what was bothering him.  But somehow, she always could tell.  She knew him longest.  They were best friends, separated only by gender, rumors whenever they hung out, and the different, unexpected paths they took: her fighting as a career, his fighting as a way to make it through another day.

            “Hey, are you coming?” he asked her, leaning back just slightly in his aloof posture while his family, Chad, Kojima and Asano, and Orihime all hurried ahead to get to the festival.

            Orihime had said goodbye and to fight back the troubles that were going to pour out as tears, she sought fun with friends.  Tatsuki lingered at the slope of the canal, watching the first of the fireworks pop miles away.  They lit up the sky beautifully.  And when she looked at Ichigo, she saw past that daily mask of his.  He was looking at her now in a sort of distant way, like where he was going, a small part of him was resigned to the idea that he would not be coming back.

            Always so morbid…

            Tatsuki held back a chortle, a girlish giggle that she hated for Ichigo to see.  He was her sparring rival, even if he’d left her dojo; she couldn’t let him see her vulnerabilities.

            She stared at him, and he stared right back.  Maybe it was the light of the fireworks playing colors on his cheeks, but it was he who broke the stare, looking off to the left and scratching idly at his face with his index finger.  “We’ll lose them if we let them go too long,” he mumbled under the loudening crackle of the festivities.

            “They won’t be back for a while,” Tatsuki rephrased his excuse to leave as a reason to stay.  She looked from left to right and spotted a railing lining the pathway; a place for bikes, but was hardly ever used.  She walked to it, past Ichigo, though her saunter gave a ‘come hither’ sway in her cargo pants.  Ichigo couldn’t help noticing, couldn’t help following.

            “What are you…?”

            “We can have a bit of fun.”  Tatsuki looked at him, removing her own, tough mask so that her eyes shimmered cutely in the exploding lights.  “You said you’re going away for the summer.”  She boldly undid the button and fly of her pants, and he saw the white cloth underneath; she saw his throat flex as he swallowed, probably choking on his own inhibitions.  She bent forward, allowing him a view of the curvature of her backside and how the loose waist of her pants struggled not to roll down.  “It could be our last chance.”

            Ichigo hesitated, and Tatsuki easily read the thought bubble above his head.  He was thinking of when they were together before: the first time, an awkward mess on her bed with his unintended eagerness being a bit too rough for her tastes; the second, third and fourth times in his home’s living room; fifth time… here, across the river from the festival.

            “What about your cast?”  He’d always lamented his fervor, like she was porcelain that he’d break if too careless.

            “My arm’s broken,” Tatsuki pointed out with the edge of impatience, “not my hips!”

            Ichigo looked off again, annoyed, and grumbled about her attitude not exactly putting him in any sort of mood.  The bulge at the front of his tight pants begged to differ.  Whatever squabbling they went through, he nevertheless found his feet planted behind Tatsuki’s, and his tentative hand rolled the pants and panties over her backside.  Again, he expressed some concern that they’d be caught, and Tatsuki assuaged him when she said, “Only if we don’t hurry.”

            Seeing her ass out like this, taut and firm, naked for his eyes only while a show of firework colors splashed on the pale cheeks and changed their shade; it all felt so wrong and erotic.  Tatsuki had once said that the wrongness enhanced the experience; she was talking about trespassing at that time, when they were both kids.

            “Hurry,” she urged him, the threat of discovery now seeming more real with his hesitance.

            But he complied quickly.  Even with the bursting fireworks, Tatsuki heard his zipper descend and felt the blunt head nudge her cleft.  Assured that he was ready and in place, her feet spread a bit further apart, and his length sunk into her, their arousal heating and feeding off each other as he crawled gingerly to the end of her hole.

            The sounds he made always made her think that he was drowning; again, she stifled a girlish laugh.  She was careful not to put too much weight on her injured arm; cast or not, it was still tender.  Normally, with the use of both hands, she’d take it upon herself to set the pace.  She’d use her arms as leverage to lug her weight back at him, but he knew what to do.  He could handle it.

            “Ah!”  His voice was hitched and urgent.  “We… we gotta be fast!”  He was talking to himself as much as to her.  She agreed with several strong nods as her face scrunched up, his thrusts making it harder and harder not to cry out.

            He was long.  She wasn’t sure if he was above average or not, but he certainly filled her out and then some.  Sometimes, when he shoved into her, it felt like he was never-ending until he bottomed out with a thud against her cervical wall.  Whenever he hit with particular force, she cried out or shouted at him.  He would then check himself, maintain a steady flow, and then start losing it again.  Control was never his forte, no matter how much he tried to show restraint.

            All at once, he slumped forward, his sternum molding to the curve of her arched back.  At first, she thought he’d given up, but she heard his breath at her ear, didn’t feel his chin on her shoulder.  He was waiting.  She swung her good arm around, caught the back of Ichigo’s head, and kissed him hard.  The hands guiding her waist jumped up to her chest, catching her C-cups to support her as well as fondle them; heavy and firm underneath her shirt, he was more enraptured by breasts than he let on.  Maybe not a drooling pervert, but his eyes – usually the size of saucers when her top would come off – always watched their bouncing motions; his hands secured them.

            Her name tore from his lips, and his fingers squeezed her tighter.  She breathed his name back to him, touched their barely-separated lips together again, and pushed back against him.  His pelvis shoved up against her butt again when he made a muffled attempt at a warning.

            He was close.  He always warned her, always worried for his own lack of control.  It would’ve been better if they could draw it out, but Tatsuki knew they couldn’t dawdle for long.  If his family didn’t come back, there was still the threat of regular passersby.  Still with her lips against his, she grimaced a little, hating yet loving the swift sensation of his hot, throbbing cock evacuating her quivering quim.  The ensuing sensation as Ichigo doubled over, cringing and grunting, was the familiar hot spread moving across her rear end.  And a heavy load as always…  He should take some time for himself, she thought with a bashful blush.

            Yet as the ejection continued to pour in thick globs over her rump, his right hand diligently moved down, crossing over her navel and through the meadow of her pubic hair to rediscover her gem.  “Ah…!  You idiot…!”  She’d been fine if only he finished; his smooth fingers caught her off guard.  Regardless of her reaction, her legs opened invitingly until the pleasure surmounted to less nonchalant levels, and then they caved inward.  She gasped his name again, reaching for his hand between her thighs, relying solely on the stability of her cast on the railing and his left arm around her midsection.  His own cum was smearing against his lower belly, but he was determined to keep stroking her clit.  Stroking and stroking until that cute, girlish side of her came free with an echoing wail of “Kyaah~!!”  More fireworks went off in a grand finale, but this time, behind her tightly-squeezed eyes.  She could practically feel the weary Ichigo’s grin of success as she came, soaking his hand as his finger made longer rubs along her nether lips.

            He could finally cave himself when her strength wavered; she could barely catch herself when she teetered forward, panting and waiting for the feebleness of climax’s aftermath to end.  His hands wound up on the rail, clutching on either side of her, trapping her in between them.  Normally, his weight would be upon her; she liked it.  This time, however, he was showing concern for her arm.

            It was a minute or two before they both had the strength to stand up and get ready for the awkward cleanup.  Tatsuki grimaced when she looked at her butt and saw his goo dripping down.  With some reluctance, Ichigo scooped the mess several times, and with greater discomfort, flung his white seed to the grass.  Good enough, Tatsuki had said after he swiped the fourth time, and shuffled her panties back into place.  As she drew up her pants, she sighed, “You’re so impulsive, Ichigo.”

            After slipping his slippery schlong back into his pants, Ichigo resented the remark.  “How am I impulsive?” he added.

            Holding her unbuttoned, unzipped pants up to her waist, she looked over her shoulder with a flat expression.  “We just had sex outside because I suggested it.”

            Returning the deadpan look, he pointed out that she had been the one to suggest it… by her own admittance no less.  She just rolled her eyes and fumbled with her button with one hand; Ichigo, seeing her plight, lent an awkward hand to help her.  He even pulled up her zipper, though neither made eye contact for that.

            “We should go before they wonder,” Ichigo said, rubbing the back of his neck and still looking away from her.

            “Yeah,” Tatsuki grumbled in reply.

            “Tatsuki-chan!  Kurosaki-kun!”

            Both looked and saw that Orihime had come back for them and was now waving for them at further down the path.  “Hurry!  The festival looks amazing!”

            “Okay!” Tatsuki shouted back to her, but still waited, turning to Ichigo for one more moment of privacy.  He looked at her and asked what was wrong.  She said nothing for a moment, and then gave him a glimpse of her girlish smile.  “It’s nothing.  Let’s go!”  She ran ahead with her toothy smirk as Ichigo shouted after her, giving chase.

            Ichigo…  Make sure Orihime comes back safe.

            She looked back at him with her smirk.

            Make sure you come back safe, too.


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