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A Recollection: Dreaming of Angels	By : Rain Category: Bleach > Het - Male/Female Views: 2031 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: Bleach and all related characters do not belong to me. Pride and Prejudice also does not belong to me. I make no money from this fanfiction.

Chapter List
- 1-A Recollection: Dreaming of Angels
- 1
Disclaimer: Bleach and all related characters do not belong to me. Pride and Prejudice also does not belong to me. I make no money from this fanfiction.
Enjoy! :]
A Recollection: Dreaming of Angels
A sharp whistle propels itself into the world.
Curled into the folds of her cream couch, Orihime is reading. She props up a hardcover copy of Pride and Prejudice with her knees, ignoring the whistle for she is too enthralled with the thoughts of Elizabeth Bennet. Raindrops smack loudly against the glass walls, providing a low rhythm and juxtaposing the sharp crackling of the fireplace. The fire bathes her in a glow, and she wriggles her toes in its warmth. The whistling screeches. She sighs. Snapping the book shut, and tossing it onto the cushions, she stands and arches each muscle in a stretch. An exaggerated yawn escapes her.
Orihime walks behind the couch and into the kitchen, retrieving an ornate mug and tea bag from the cabinet. An impatient tea kettle continues to wail from the stove, begging for a release from the heat. Orihime lifts the handle, and pours generously into her mug. She returns to the couch, cradling the mug between the long sweater sleeves that drape over her hands. The steam unfurls into the air, clawing towards the sky in escape. The crisp aroma tickles her nose as she sips.
It is days like this, when the bright grey rainlight shines through her window, and the world seems void of time, that she thinks of jade, and iron, wood and water. Orihime sips her mug again, the mint tea seeping and churning itself into every particle of liquid. Its green hue and the roaring slaps of rain outside trigger memories.
She thinks: ‘The rain outside is quite heavy today….’
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When it rained, Orihime dreamed of Angels. In her fluffy feathered blankets, atop her soft mattress, she sunk into a world of slumber where Winged Creatures came out to stroke her hair and offer life in her stoical prison. Once, she dreamed she had awakened on her stomach, largely aware of such a being behind her. She smiled into her pillow.
“The rain is quite heavy today….” She said. Her chipper words fell into silence. There was a slight ruffle, a strong wing beat, a creak as soaked membrane met soaked membrane. Clicking footsteps approached the bed. “Do you not think so?” She asks, muffled. She burrowed her face into the lushness of her silken sheets. It was a still moment; one when the rain echoed through the vaulted ceiling, ricocheting off the white walls. A clawed hand slid gently through her veil of hair, and cupped her cheek. She nuzzled that hand.
His claws were long, jet black, and sharp. A prick of pain: a claw raked a small scratch onto her cheek before the palm lifted and left her face entirely. She peeked above the blankets and met his eyes. His eyes: the most beautiful jade with an iris the color of embers. The slit pupil took her in passively. His eyes narrowed.
“You are never scared of me, girl.” His words came in a breath, lighter than mist, and wafted towards her. His hand lifted a few strands of her red hair, twirling and entangling them in his fingers. Orihime shook her head before timidly reaching to touch his furred hand. Ice cold and damp. She pushed it to gently rest against her cheek and her nose filled with scents of moss and forest. The thrill of Escape. Flight. She breathed in the smell of rain and earth before he slipped his hand away.
“Stop,” His voice was stern. Their eyes met: Ash and Amber, Smoke and Topaz. She felt a pause in time where she could only see those eyes. They comforted her: their presence told her life itself had paid her a visit in this bleak world. In her half-awakened state, she closed her eyes and swiftly fell into slumber. The tall, lanky beast, with wings outstretched, sat atop the bed and stroked her auburn hair. The rain hushed the room in its static, and the moon leaked through the wet sheets of droplets outside. The rainlight filtered through the large arched windows. Clawed hands stroked her face as she slept, wings hovered protectively.
In another dream, the Winged Creature stayed longer. In the dream, Orihime would awaken, and the Winged Creature sat at the foot of her bed. His eyes closed, the heat of his reiatsu subsided and rose with each deep breath. His wings were creased at his sides; his body slumped in a dark heap on the ground. The pebbles of water on his dark fur glistened in the rainlight. The whole room was drenched in the smell of rain: iron and sand.
The Winged Creature had a form that was white, accented black. It was quite frightening to most, but Orihime thought it quite beautiful. Fur lined his legs and arms in thick layers. The light played off the curve of his claws instead of human fingernails. Bird-like feet. A supple pointed tail: a reminder of the demon in him. Reflections bounced from the elegant horns that rose from a mane of ebony and curved towards the sky. His hollow hole was large, a dried blackness in mid-ooze from its center down his abdominal muscles. Most strikingly, large leather wings that could extend meters outwards, horned at the top knuckle; they were quite damp from the rain. She stroked his wet hair lovingly, and he snapped up, throwing dewdrops into the air. Pain seized her arm when his fingers wound tightly about her wrist.   She gasped, ashen eyes wide. His reiatsu engulfed them for a moment then subsided. He flung her from him, and Orihime was left alone to fall back asleep while he walked away.
Another dream gave Orihime the fortune of waking tucked in his embrace. When it thundered outside, the Winged Creature was her Angel and kept her protected in his wings. His arm was her cushion; her head was tucked under his chin. And when she pulled back from his chest, she saw the magnificent black streaks from his eyes that bled down his chiseled face. With a light finger, she traced the markings to his jaw line. When she pressed her face against his pectoral, she heard the silent hollowness of his lack-of-heart. He smelled of rivers and eucalyptuses. His wings engulfed them, folded about her shoulders to conceal her from the cold. A lightning strike illuminated the room in brightness, and Orihime’s world purged into white where she only felt the firmness of his arms around her, and smelled the rain in the air. It threatened to permeate her skin with cold. Quickly, silently, she nudged up, and brushed his lips with her own as the lightning subsided and color rushed back to him, painting his features in blackness once more.
In a particular dream, Orihime dreamed of more. She’d awaken to the snarl of thunder and snap of lightning, and the rain would slam the castle in waves of pulsating droplets. The chorus inside her room rumbled with a clamoring of rain, sleet, and wind. The Winged Creature held her to him. His skin: smooth as sandstone, cold as sleet. She traveled her hand from his chest to his collar bone. Their eyes met, and her stomach knotted, leaving her asphyxiated in awe. She registered his gradual movements towards her. His serpent-like eyes closed, and he placed his lips lightly upon hers: a brief embrace. She slacked against him. Silently, swiftly, he licked her lips and entered, engaging her tongue in a silky waltz. Her hands reached to knot into his dark hair.
Her dress was efficiently ripped to shreds by his talons and claw. The pores of her body perked and she shuddered as his lips enchantingly left hers. A shiver coursed through her when their nude bodies met: his skin, cool and sleek, his fur, carnal and ancient. Orihime’s nipples tightened. Thunder rumbled outside. The Winged Creature gently propped her up in his lap, holding her face and kissing her lightly. She squeezed her eyes shut as his kisses, like smoke, poured down her body, barely touching her skin. Orihime smoothed her hands into his hair as sharp pressure was applied to an inner portion of her left breast. The Angel sucked hungrily within her bosum, caressing the mound before he left his mark: a deep red bruise. He softly made his way down the midline of her stomach. She whimpered, and he quickly claimed her mouth again. His kiss: a sample of subtle mint, an aftertaste of dewy forest. In all ways a taste of life and absolutely intoxicating. The smell of perspiration hung in the air.
Gently, he lifted her up. She grasped onto his neck as he did so. And when he joined them as one, up to his hilt, she lost all the air in her body. Tense, Orihime felt her insides coil about him and she arched her back against his palm. Their rhythmic movement creaked the bed, and flashes of lightning blurred the room into pure white for moments at a time. The Winged Creature held her to him, and tenderly lapped at her breasts. She hung onto his neck as he continued to plunge into her. Gently with clawed hands, never breaking their connection, he pushed her against the headboard of the bed. He supported her thighs with his hands as he continued to drive deeper into her, her back arching against the white headboard. Their connection: wet and hot, lascivious, her pants drowned by the growl of thunder and cry of wind. His breath came ragged and deep against her ear; it wafted wisps of auburn hair against her face, and they matted in her sweat. She ran her nails against his biceps as she struggled to contain herself, gasping as he drove himself in at different angles. The Winged Creature huffed with each newly discovered sensation. Her whimpers and loud moans echoed with the roar of rain against the rounded rooftop. And she felt that she would surely lose herself, as her toes curled and his wings flexed outward.
Sometimes though, there were days like this: when she would truly awake to reality, and no Winged Creature presented himself. This was no dream. She laid her eyes on her captor, his jade eyes meeting hers passively, almost negatively. She turned away embarrassed, scared she had moaned or whimpered in her sleep, remnants of her desires. He twirled a piece of her titian hair between his fingers.
‘Girl,’ He said flatly. She looked over at Ulquiorra, and noticed what she noticed every time this happened: beautiful emerald eyes, dark hair, a horn atop his helmet. She could see the resemblance to her Angel. Through an idea that betrayed the friends who fought to save her, she wished for the possibility that her captor could be this Winged Creature. He could be her bit of life and escape in her lonely confinement. Orihime willed herself asleep so that she may meet the Angel again.
The rain drizzled outside, and the hollow sound of droplets echoed in the room. There was silence. A shuffle of clothes and Ulquiorra had leaned over, pulling the auburn lock to his nose, inhaling the scent of fresh grass and pollen. He closed his eyes. Upon their opening, the emerald of his irises began its bleach to amber, and jade osmotically leaked like ink into his sclera. Rainy Nights.
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Orihime sips her mint tea and looks out the glass walls into the grey rainclouds. If she squinted hard enough, she could possibly perceive of a dark figure in the haze, cut of sleet and rain. Another sip of mint. Perhaps a storm was coming.
End
Author Notes:
Thank you for reading my story. Please feel free to check out my other Ulquihime oneshot entitled “Play Pretend”, and/or leave a review.
Thanks so much!
-Rain.
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A Recollection: Dreaming of Angels