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Heat Of The Night	By : AlmaGemela Category: Bleach > Het - Male/Female Views: 8350 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 2
Disclaimer: Since my driver's license does NOT say Kubo Noriaki, I do not own BLEACH. The only thing being made from this fanfiction is a hobby. But please enjoy!

Chapter List
- 1
- 2
Yes, I am a terrible person. Haven’t updated or finished any of my other stories….But anyway…^_^”

I would like to note that I took some creative license with whether or not a Shinnigami could interact (such as eating) with the world of the living while in a non-corporeal state (without the use of a gigai)…so please just deal with the odd nuance.

Pretend they only use a gigai so that the majority of the living (those without reiatsu) can see them; and that they only wear them so as to give themselves physical limitations so that they don’t draw attention when among mortals (such as walk through walls or jump over buildings). ^_~.

Also, for those who would suggest Byakuya is acting OOC in this fic, I would like to point out two things.

One, he is under the influence of a strange aphrodisiac (composed of who-knows-what).

Two, guys are notoriously dull-witted when physically aroused. Seriously: there is a chemical reaction wherein their intellect drops with the little blood flow going to their brain.
Other than that, creative license and all that blah blah. Please enjoy and review!!

Heat. It licked along her limbs, drawing a fine sweat from her skin as the persistent warmth hovered in the air. It felt thick; making her feel like some kind of muffin baking within an oven. She paused for a second, vainly trying to untangle her fingers from the shopping bags so that she might wipe some of the perspiration from her brow.
“Aw, rats…!”
It didn’t really work out so well. A jar of peanut butter shifted precariously before escaping and thumping onto the grass. Orihime stuck out her tongue at the rebellious container, a bemused amusement carding through her thoughts. Could have been worse…my jar of red bean paste isn’t made of plastic!
The teen shifted awkwardly, putting down some of her groceries as she rescued the hard-to-find American delicacy, nestling it back in place. Huffing a sigh, she gingerly picked up the bags and set off once more.
Summer was here, and while it promised a coming holiday from school, the ripening of the season undeniably bordered on discomfort. Orihime grew hopeful from the fact that at least the sun was finally setting. Its absence would surely allow for a cool respite. She couldn’t recall it being this hot and sticky in Karakura for a long while. Maybe not since primary school.
She hummed gladly to herself, enjoying the short-cut through the park as fireflies sparked in the gathering darkness. The grass ruffled as she crushed it underfoot, its sweet smell lending to her daydream of impending dinner. She could hardly wait to try out her latest experimentation of hummus, peanut butter, potato bread, veggie-burger patties…
A sudden heave of awareness, like the gut-wrenching sensation of riding an elevator violently upwards, ripped Orihime from her idle musings.

It didn’t feel ominous. So that meant it wasn’t an enemy. The reiatsu wasn’t threatening to choke her. So that ruled out Hollows…. But it was strong, almost crushing. Clearly the level of a captain…but it wasn’t Kurosaki-kun. Yet, somehow…it felt familiar…and if she wasn’t mistaken…somewhat subdued. Like the individual casting it was making a difficult effort to mask its presence. Trying and failing, more like…

A shinigami this powerful should be able to nearly mask his or her presence completely. Not only that, but the reiatsu of a shinigami shouldn’t feel this dense…mixed up, somehow. Like sugar that had fallen amidst grains of sand, indiscernible in a careless glance, but undeniably different upon inspection.
Could they be in trouble…? She bit her lip, senses tingling as she tried to calm down and think. As of so far, there was no reason to over-react. She just needed to take a breath and concentrate…try to pinpoint from which direction it was emanating.
A tingling thread wove through her senses, giving Orihime a general sense of where the visitor from Soul Society was. Hiking up her bags, she set a determined pace.
Heat. It spilled out of him, rivaling the acrid warmth already in the air. He grimaced, shoving his palm against the searing wound in order to slow the bleeding. Already he could feel the effects of the immense blood loss: his vision a roiling vestige of nauseating color. It was not unlike being drunk.
He gritted his teeth, unwilling to fully admit to his own recklessness: to have pit himself against an unmeasured foe, only to retreat by use of shun-po at the cost of further deteriorating his weakened condition.
In any case, he doubted that he’d have been able to summon a Senkaimon in order to exact a hasty retreat. He hadn’t the time, and furthermore had not desired to risk a chance that an enemy be allowed entrance to the Soul Society. He’d had a feeling that was part of what the Arrancar had wanted.
For what reason or motive he was unsure. But instinct had him trusting to the fact that he had made the appropriate decision.
He had visited the human world without orders, using the private Senkaimon on the Kuchiki grounds. Restlessness had weakened his usual iron judgment in face of a peculiar urge to walk along the shore of the human world.
In reflection, perhaps that had not been his doing. The hybrid—Alma Gemela, she had called herself, had bragged of his answering her summons. Much as he resented it, he could not rule out the possibility that a modicum of truth lay in that boast.
He had, after all, made the crossing without the natural precaution of Senbonzakura sheathed securely at his side. Doubtless that had been part of her ploy: somehow being coerced into leaving it behind, a feat in and of itself. To be without it was akin to missing a limb.
It quickly became apparent that she had thought to entice him: a strange tactic. He had been disgusted by her brazen assumption that she would be able to seduce him, and cursed himself a fool for leaving his precious zanpaku-to behind.
Still, whatever her intentions, any further action on her part was something he could not allow. Her words in recall were now becoming too hazy to remember. Something to do with breeding…
He had engaged her in battle, during which her sultry looks and wicked mirth had quickly evaporated into a grim determination. The wounds he had doled out to her had doubtless been fatal, but hers repaid in kind had been far more lingering.
The Arrancar had been unnatural: for her treacherous touch rendered more than torn flesh. It had been infected with a kind of poison, which even now pumped through his veins. It itched like fire, clawing its way past his lungs and toward his heart.
The dull pulse of a familiar reiatsu materialized through the haze of agony. He recognized it’s personal signature with little interest. He had little faith that the human girl would be capable of any assistance. He might have merely walked away. But the throbbing ache in his side didn’t allow for such frivolity. And by this point he was having trouble keeping the world from spinning.
Orihime was stunned. So much so, that she nearly tripped in her haste to thrust aside her groceries and scurry to the grievously wounded Rokubantai Taicho.
“Kuchiki Taicho! What happened?! Where are you hurt?!”
Byakuya closed his eyes in irritation. Not so much because of the girl in question, but her high-pitched squeal did nothing to ease the violent pounding of his head. And at her approach, a strange apprehension whispered through his limbs, almost locking him in place.
Orihime realized that she needed to get a grip. Obviously Kuchiki-sama was seriously hurt. And her shrieking wasn’t doing him any good. She lowered her voice, trying to keep it calm and soothing. Much like the same tone of voice Sora used on her as a child, when she had scrapped her knee.
“Kuchiki Taicho, I must see to your injuries. Are you able to move? How many fingers am I holding up…” The husky lull from her mouth had his rapt attention, so much so that the strength of his reaction momentarily stunned him. What was wrong with him?
What senseless drivel had Alma Gemela been uttering…? Something about the venom she had injected him with; the fluid that had flown from her nails as she sliced into his flesh with her hand…A warmth was now spreading…webbing throughout his body in flourishing threads. Trying to concentrate, he averted his gaze from the girl.
“How far is your inhabitance?” The question had not been rudely meant, but the abruptness of it had surprised her. Still, she dutifully answered in that same husky tone of voice, unwilling to admit that the detached demeanor of the question bothered her.
“…Only another block. It’s that building right over there…” She ambiguously gestured toward an apartment building, concern etched in her pretty features. His eyes flickered in the general direction, quickly coming to his own decision as he noted the location.
“Pick up your things.” She didn’t hide her surprise nearly so well the second time. In fact, she seemed a little hurt. And further more: unwilling to do so. He grit his teeth.
“Please.”
This time, her shock was palpable. She doubted many in all of the Seireitei had ever heard that particular word pass those noble lips. Taking that into consideration, she obliged. She had to trust that there was a purpose in his request. Although hopefully that doesn’t entail dying out here alone on the pavement! The teen was well aware to the extent of the Taicho’s pride. She had heard Rukia-chan once compare her brother to Kurosaki-kun. Both were stubborn, and had undeniable issues when it came to their judgment being questioned.
Orihime had hardly finished gathering her numerous bags before the wind was knocked out of her. It hardly registered that Byakuya had grasped her in his arms, grocery bags and all, before using a shun-po to her apartment building.
In the span of what felt like two heartbeats, they arrived at her door. Either he remembered where she lived from detailed reports of the Secret Remote Squad while harboring Hitsuguya Taicho and Matsumoto Fukutaicho before the Winter War, or he had traced her lodging based on the lingering presence of her reiatsu. She decided it was more likely the latter. She actually doubted he even knew her name, let alone recall her address from a field report.
“Kuchiki Taicho! That was reckless! You’re already injured! What were you thinking?! And in that condition!” She fought to keep her voice low, but scolded him with it nonetheless. He closed his eyes at the sound of it, unwilling to admit to the effect it was having on him. It is the poison. Nothing more.
She scrabbled with her keys, fussing as she did so. His dry, deep voice cut through her complaints.

“Whatever my condition, it will not worsen, and I refuse to allow it to be treated while in the middle of the street.” Orihime rolled her eyes, huffing a sigh as she mumbled more to herself than him as she bustled inside.
“Well technically, it was a park…” …and what’s over is done…I guess healing him here will be more practical. Whatever injured him may still be out there... She tossed her bagged food onto the counter, intending to deal with it later as she kicked off her sandals.
Finding that the proud Taicho of Rokubantai had not immediately followed her, Orihime rushed back to the door and grasped his hand, practically dragging him inside before locking up the apartment. He had been leaning against the doorjamb, obviously trying to disguise the extent of his brittle condition.
She sensed his hesitation in entering her home. But that could be attributed to his discomfort of numerous injuries. Throwing a glance over her shoulder, she realized it was largely due to something else altogether. The obvious shock of having been touched without permission was baldly apparent in his eyes.
She nearly rolled her own in exasperation. Permission and whatever other trivial formalities could hang! Still, she released him so that he could regain a modicum of dignity as she rushed to unpack her futon and pillows, pretending to have noticed nothing.
“Don’t bother with your shoes!! Just—hurry, take off your scarf and shihakusho! Lay down on this…”
The searing warmth of their brief contact still lingered within the recess of his mind. The ghost of her touch fading to a dull tingle….An almost palpable ache. He refused to give a name to it. A dull dread was beginning to take root deep inside of him, one that centered on the ramifications of the poison now within his person.
She seemed unaware as she rushed about. For that, he was rather grateful. His movements were becoming uncoordinated, and the pain wrested a grimace from his lips as he slowly disrobed the upper portion of his body. He nearly gave a hiss of breath as he peeled fabric from drying blood.
When the girl turned to assist him, he espied a slight flush over her skin as she gave a discreet appraisal. It had been quick and nigh indiscernible, nonetheless years of astute observation allowed him to notice. As gently and swiftly as possible, she helped him to the futon so that he lay flat upon its surface.
He shivered at her touch, though the contact this time was brief. He was not cold. Rather, his flesh felt afire. He feared to give a name to it. A forbidden flame he had not felt in decades. Desire…
For an ephemeral, fleeting moment, he willed the impossible. That the girl would heal him; the aphrodisiac now singing within his blood would be gone as though it had never been. And the nearness of the mortal and her sensuous curves would cease to inflict such craving… He held to hope, anxiety cresting his body’s throbbing torrent of afflictions.
Seconds stretched into minutes, which lengthened into what felt like hours. Beneath her shield of time reversal, he felt his flesh heal and knit. Blood that had soaked his side returned beneath his skin. But the heat refused to abate. At least not entirely; rather, it felt like it had dwindled into embers, breathing beneath his skin. Which at any moment might quicken into flame.
It should be fine. The physical manifestation of its influence should begin to diminish, in time. He could not admit to his current weakness, though. He would be chagrined if she were to notice anything unusual. She was an innocent, and best protected by ignorance of his physical person.
“You may desist.” The shield shattered, and she fought against the urge to scoot back and away from him. She grinned nervously, scratching idly at the back of her head to cover her discomfort. Sheesh…what’s wrong with me? It’s only Rukia-chan’s brother…
“Oh! Um, glad you’re feeling better…” Fathomless azure eyes bore into her own, and for some reason, she couldn’t quite make eye contact. Which was rather unlike her. Probably could be contributed to the fact that he wasn’t wearing a shirt. She had seen Kurosaki-kun without a shirt countless times…but Kuchiki-sama…it was different somehow.
Here was a man who had lost the wiry frame of youth. With thick, corded muscle and cut abs that usually remained hidden behind the richest of fabrics, he was a regal, willowy figure of raw masculinity. It nearly made her blush scarlet.
But in spite of this distraction, for some reason or other, her intuition was screaming that something about him seemed a little…off. What was more, it felt like a hovering presence still lingered. As if he wasn’t fully healed. It tingled at the edge of her senses. You’re imagining things. He’s obviously feeling better…you’re over-reacting.
She got up, intending to distract herself by putting up the groceries and preparing the evening meal. She put away the ice cream first, hoping it hadn’t melted beyond repair.
“So…um…would you like to stay for dinner?” He regarded her with a cool look, momentarily distracted by half-remembered words.
Toca el caliente de la noche…despierta, sangre caliente…He blinked hard, willing the remembered mantra Alma Gemela had giddily chanted to fall back into the inner recesses of his mind. He would mull over them later, in private.
He briefly considered declining her offer. However, she had in fact just pulled him back from the precipice of what had surely been death. The least he could muster to pay back his debt would be to break bread with the young woman. He disliked being indebted to anyone. It was an alien, unwelcome feeling.
“That would be agreeable.” She immediately brightened at the admission, perplexing him with the intensity of her hundred-watt-smile.
“Great! Okay, let me show you what we’re having!” She chatted and hummed amiably while she worked: cooking the tofu-burger patties in a skillet with vegetable oil on the stove as she spread peanut butter and hummus on slices of potato bread. In mere minutes, she had assembled the bread, patties, and lettuce into what she referred to as ‘sandwiches’.
“It’s really good! I mean, not as great as red bean paste, but I think it’s probably my third favorite meal combo. Okay, maybe second since pomegranate-ripple ice cream on top of green tea biscotti doesn’t count as a meal. Well, maybe as dessert, but I guess technically that’s not a meal. More like an encore. Still, when they’re in combination like this, it all tastes really good!”
He stared uncomprehendingly at the supposedly edible structures. She trailed off, unsure what to make of his facial expression. She coughed lightly, pushing his plate toward him on the counter.
“Uh…would you like anything to drink?” He inclined his head graciously.
Humming quietly to herself in order to lighten the mood, Orihime turned and procured two glasses from a kitchen cabinet. It was odd, serving a member of a noble family in her humble apartment. She had assumed Kuchiki-sama would decline her offer of a meal.
Not that she was complaining. She was glad of the company. On a hot summer evening like tonight, company was a welcome distraction from the heat and humidity that lingered after the long day. It hadn’t cooled off like she had hoped it would. Unfortunately, her air-conditioning was also once again on the fritz. But eating a companionable meal with her friend’s brother could be a worthwhile diversion from the discomfort.
Orihime filled the cups with ice before adding water from a pitcher in the fridge, and turned. She paused, momentarily distracted at the sight of him. Contrary to what she would have assumed, the taicho had made no movement to redress. She handed him his glass, fighting a blush as she broached the question.
“Would you…ah…like me to wash your shihakusho? I can probably get most of the blood off…” Her body betrayed her, the flush evident on her skin.
“Thank you, but that will not be necessary.” She bobbed her head, picking up her plate as she led them both to the small table and sat down.
“Yeah, okay. Anyway, it’s so hot…you’re probably more comfortable like that anyway…” Suddenly realizing how rude that sounded, she crammed the food into her mouth, chewing as if to swallow the words that had escaped her. Thankfully, he chose not to comment. Instead, he hesitantly bit into the sandwich, startled at the pleasant wash of flavors that hit his tongue.
Orihime didn’t bother to hide her pleasure at his subtle reaction. She smiled as she took another bite. Until Matsumoto Fukutaicho had come along, Orihime would have sworn that there was something wrong with her taste buds. After all, no one—not even Tatsuki-chan, seemed to care for her taste in food. However lately, she had been encouraged to experiment even more than usual. She had found it especially enjoyable to do with foreign foods, resulting in their current meal.
She finished quickly, having been famished. Unwilling to remain idle, she set about tidying up as she kept up a steady stream of one-sided conversation while Byakuya ate.
“So do you feel better? I mean, I wasn’t certain that—”
“I am sufficiently recovered.” She nodded, folding up her futon and setting it aside rather than putting it up. She would be going to bed soon, anyway. She headed to the sink and began to wash her plate and glass.
“Still…I’d feel better if you hung around for another thirty minutes or so. Just in case. Or, if you’d rather head back to the seireitei, I’d recommend you see Unohana Taicho right away to make sure—”

“I will linger to assuage your worries.” He cut in smoothly. He seemed to do that a lot. Interrupting her. Must be a ‘noble’ thing. But at least he isn’t putting up a fight. Whatever caused his injuries, they sure felt…strange. She beamed at him, taking his empty plate to the sink.
“So I was thinking I would take a bath. Would you like to take one?” He nearly wrinkled his nose in distaste. The idea of redressing in soiled clothing was repugnant.
“…No. Thank you.” She bobbed her head, as if expecting his answer, inciting his interest as to why she had bothered to offer.
“Then would you like some tea? It shouldn’t take that long. I have green tea, strawberry tea, peach tea, sakura tea, jasmine tea…”
“Jasmine would be appreciated.” Huh…I’d have wagered on the sakura…she mused, before chirping, “Coming right up!” She filled the kettle with water, before setting it onto the stove to boil. She started rummaging through the upper kitchen cabinet, bemused when she only came across an earl grey and an oolong. Must have crammed it higher up than I thought…She got onto her tiptoes, rooting around deeper, oblivious to the effect she was having on her companion.
His knuckles had turned white from clenching his hands into fists; a vain attempt at control. With an incomprehensible logic, he wished the pain from his injuries would return, if only the distraction they would now offer. While it was indeed overly warm in the girl’s living quarters, he knew the sweat now bathing his skin could not entirely be attributed to it.
Her back arched delicately, shapely; beautiful skin escaping the thin material of what he had once overheard Matsumoto Fukutaicho refer to as a ‘tank top’. The straps were strained, even from the back, with holding the garment together. Her skirt was barely agreeable to where decency was concerned. As it was, the young woman’s bottom threatened an appearance should the girl reach much higher.

Before it fully registered, he found himself only a step behind her. True, he had never truly looked at the girl before. Yet whether it was purely the influence of the aphrodisiac or not, he was looking at her now. And the fire in his blood burned.
Concern tightened her brows, and she bit her temptingly full bottom lip. When had she turned around? He vaguely registered that she held the package of sought-after jasmine tea in her hands.
“Kuchiki Taicho, are you feeling all right?”
She felt exposed, suddenly. Like she had forgotten to wear clothes. A cursory glance confirmed their presence. He had never before looked at her without it being in a somewhat supercilious manner. Like she was beneath his notice. Now her very flesh tingled beneath his penetrating stare, and its raw intensity kind of made her want to melt into the floor and disappear.
Sure, she had just healed him and shared a meal… So she could understand some differences in his general attitude toward her. But now…she was feeling uneasy… Like the universe had somehow shifted a little to the left, and she was just now scrambling to find her equilibrium with the person in front of her that had caused it to move.
“There was…a miscalculation…” He groaned softly, feeling the sharp rise of his blood. The arousal harvested within was growing exponentially. It had been a mistake to take in her visage. It was becoming harder to focus. He braced a hand on either side of the kitchen counter, striving to anchor himself as a dizzying wash of her fragrance whispered from her ginger hair.
“A miscalculation? What do you mean? What’s wrong? Talk to me—“ She was a kaleidoscope of movement and color. Beautiful curves bouncing softly as she reached for him. He pressed his forehead hungrily against her palm as Orihime sought to gauge his temperature, willfully oblivious to his hands upon the counter, entrapping her.
“Kami! You’re burning up! I’ll go get some ice from the freezer.” The loss of her sweet skin against his own; of her hand no longer upon him was an unfathomable thing. She seemed to realize his caging embrace, and gently pushed at his arm as she sought the refrigerator.
His reaction was immediate; in a movement he had grasped her wrist, his other hand brushing her side, stepping her backward so that she was fully pressed against the counter. It forced her to thrust out her chest, bewilderment painting a panic across her pretty features.

“Taicho! What are you doing? You need a cold compress—“

If anything, it felt as though the potency of the venom’s presence brewed stronger than ever before within his veins. Too much time had passed. He felt his mouth go dry, his tongue stick to the roof of his mouth as he tried to warn her. He needed to warn her.
“Inoue-san,” She fell silent at the sound of his voice. Though whether it was out of fear of his actions or surprise at hearing her own name pass his lips, neither could be sure.
Perhaps it was the length of time the poison had inhabited his body; its influence was now tantamount. He no longer felt inhibited. The heat caused by the aphrodisiac had taken root, making him burn at the core, and then the unexpected happened. He found that he welcomed this awakened carnality.
Passion thought to be long dead, buried deep alongside the memory of his wife, ripped brutally through him. Much as he might later come to rue this moment, the abandonment of an iron will was something he now craved. Though rigid discipline carried him through the empty moments ,wherein he felt the need to be in control, he embraced this brief severance from it. He surrendered to it. He needed it. He needed her. He felt alive. For the first time in over fifty years.
Only a taste…
His mouth devoured hers in desperation, and her lips parted in shock at the contact. He took advantage of the unmeaning invitation, slipping his tongue past her own to ravage her completely. The taste became a decadent repast, and he was gone.
He was like a starving man, relishing the sweet flavor and feel of her as his hand tangled into the thick locks of her soft auburn hair. He swallowed the sound of her budding protest, answering back with a groan rich with lust.
This isn’t happening…This can’t be happening…!! The mantra poured through her head in a maelstrom of shock and adrenaline, stuck in repeat. He had snapped. That had to be the only explanation. That feeling she’d had, of something still being wrong, had been wretchedly right. Whatever he had fought, obviously had left more than met the eye.
She hiccupped back another gasp as he restlessly moved to her throat, leaving a liquid trail of bruising love bites down her neck and across her collarbone. Seemingly memorizing the texture as he did the taste. Kami, she was so stupid. Willfully ignoring the signs of what should have been blazingly clear. He’d left his shirt off, for goodness sake. That had been a sign in and of itself, muggy apartment or no.
“Taicho!” She’d have liked to sound more outraged, but as it was Orihime’s voice came out more than a little breathless. Her hands, idle in shock, now pressed against his form. But in coming in contact with the hard muscles of his stomach, his chest, slick with perspiration, she felt unbearably weak.
She violently turned her head, seeking to at least dissuade his questing mouth, biting her bottom lip as he nibbled along her jaw to her sensitive ear, unperturbed. She had to think! Unconsciously, the tips of her fingers brushed against an errant nipple on his chest, straining forward in his arousal. She froze at the sound of his raw groan, and hiccupped back a squeak.
He roughly pulled down the straps of her bra and shirt, remedying their obstruction. His sinful mouth now kissed dangerously lower, skimming briefly to pepper over her shoulders before brutally suckling a lace-imprisoned nipple, freed from her tank top. She jerked backward, trying to untangle herself from his grasp.
But her lush curves had nowhere to go. And the linoleum-encrusted counter wasn’t the only reason. His hand now slipped across her lower back and roughly pressed her against his own taught form, trapping her hands.
Her panty-clad core was crushed against the proof of his arousal; chagrined, she felt the rushing liquid heat of her body’s own answer.
Tha—that’s his….!! This—this isn’t right. He doesn’t mean this. He’ll hate himself if this goes too far…Whatever’s in his system…from what he fought… is making him like this. It’s—it’s not for me…and…and I can’t let it go too far…Dare she ask how far that was? She didn’t bother to focus on answering that. Let alone that other little detail about being able to dissuade his advances. Instead, she began to struggle. She needed to get through to him. She writhed against him, hoping to twist out of his grip, somehow.
Tatsuki had once told her that she had some potential martial skill. She had even taught her a few moves. But it would be a lie to say she knew anything specific about breaking out of firm holds, let alone one where she didn’t want to necessarily injure her opponent in the process.
“Kuchi—Kuchiki-sa—Ooh!” A shriek escaped her at the feel of skillful fingers slipping past wet cotton and lace, over the lips of her sex, probing gently. Even then, he had not ceased suckling at her like a starving babe. Switching to lave the other distended breast with equal, ardent attention.
The useless material of her shirt and bra was suddenly shoved further down, serving now only to prop up her chest and lock her arms in place. The frustrating fabric inhibited movement even further as her flesh was bared to his hungry lips.
She wriggled in protest, a turmoil of desire and frustration welling inside of her. Suddenly Orihime was rocketing upwards, shocked at the feeling of Byakuya Kuchicki thrusting a finger into her tight, wet channel.
His cloth-covered length was being ground against her thigh, and she felt herself bite back a moan at the ridged feel of him, before erupting with a shriek. He had discovered…something, with the pad of his thumb; a small bundle of nerves that had her writhing for an entirely different reason. Yet her mind was not too far-gone to resume her struggle.
“Taicho…you need…,” a whimper cut across her panting breath, and she grimaced in pleasure,” Kami…you need…to stop…Ahh!” In a quick, fluid movement, he had released her limbs by stepping back, only to crouch before her. His enticing hands wrapped about her thighs as his dangerous mouth brushed against her sex.
She grasped the edge of the cheap, lower cabinets for a moment, overwhelmed at his close proximity. Never…not even in her wildest dreams…not even those involving Kurosaki-kun…But her conscience rudely stepped in: ruining the guiltless experience. Her trembling hands found his muscular shoulders, pushing with all her might as she valiantly tried to push him away.
“N—no…” It was all she could manage, apprehension stealing away the words she meant to say. A riotous thrill shot through her at the feel of him: her panties torn away completely, a skilled finger stretching her. Then two…then three… That sweet rosette of pleasure at the mercy of that dangerous tongue…those haunting lips.
She felt something: a beautiful, terrible ache that strengthened inside of her, pulsing like a heartbeat. It began to wind, twisting tighter and tighter as she mindlessly grasped the raven locks of the man before her. She very nearly pulled out the white kenseikan—an ornament of his high birth, before everything came splintering apart. Her body shook as she tried to take in air that wasn’t cold enough, sweet enough…and it seemed to Orihime, that perhaps, just for a second, that the world flipped inside out
Her mind yielded that everything was different, yet somehow had stayed the same. Before she had a chance to mull over this perplexing notion, Orihime abruptly found herself lifted up. Her heartbeat felt faint and shallow as he cradled her against a strong chest, slick with perspiration. She felt numb and overwhelmed as he swiftly moved them. At least until she found herself hastily lowered to the previously abandoned futon.

Her blood began to thunder in her ears, blushing hotly in reaction to her bared breasts roughly crushed against his delicious skin. He slid against her, groaning at the feel of her beneath him. Finely toned hands slid against her, insistently traveling over and then under the remaining, offensive fabric of her clothes. First her back, then her hips, and then lower once again…Never relinquishing his hold long enough for her to slip beyond the feel and reach of his hardened member.

Panic was beginning to set in, an electric current that wormed its way from her stuttering heart to the tips of her fingers. It was a wild rush of adrenaline and arousal in reaction to what was now on its way. Like water-stains blurring away the edges of a photograph—the picture of her reality felt distorted. Oh, Kami! She wasn’t ready for this. She wasn’t ready for him. Heck, she probably wouldn’t have even been ready for Kurosaki-kun, back when she’d had such intense feelings for him…
The fire within her blood, the one Kuchiki Taicho had lit within her body, made those idle fantasies seem vague and childish in comparison. Yet it was not enough to wholly smear her mind of all reason. Being ready physically didn’t leave her feeling ready emotionally. She had to think fast.
So she’d had her first orgasm at the hands…and tongue…of Kuchiki-san’s brother. Big deal. She could file that away for now and reel under the implications of that later. But right now, Kuchiki Taicho wasn’t in his right state of mind. He had been poisoned with some sort of… aphrodisiac, by the look …and feel…of things. If he were in his right mind, he’d want her to stop him. She knew she had a responsibility to try.

Obviously physical force wasn’t working for her. Perhaps she could…dissuade him through other means? Distract him…Divert his attention, somehow…She swallowed, an idea flowering in her mind. But its petals made her blush harder than ever. Still, the root of the thing seemed like the most logical choice: pretend to go along with it until an opportunity presented itself.
Doing her best to squash contentious insecurities, she struggled to shrug out of her tank top entirely. His breath was hot against her throat, nibbling at her ear as he took the opportunity to pin her tangled hands to the futon entirely. Orihime let slip a moan, trying to keep focus on her goal as she struggled in his firm grip.
To her chagrin, only when he lethargically released her wrists did she succeed. He was using a leashed strength that made her want to shiver. But she pressed on. Praying to any Kami above that might be listening, she kissed his lips. Or she tried to.
Truth be told, Orihime wasn’t the most experienced kisser. She wound up pecking one on the corner of his mouth. When she tried again, humiliated at the failure of her first attempt, he met her questing mouth with his own. Liquid heat, velvet and inviting, coaxed her to open her lips further. His tongue tangled with her own, taking control, demanding she submit.
She felt wet and dizzy from its affects, his voracity leaving her in a kaleidoscope of raw sensation. Hurriedly, she kissed a quick trail down his chin and on to the skin of his neck. She needed to stay focused! She twisted her hips, trying to reverse their positions. Or at the very least, physically communicate her intentions so that he would let her. She continued to kiss lower, down the flesh of his torso, figuratively crossing her fingers.
His breathing was harsh, and with a groan he eased onto his side, passionate hands locked on her hips. Drat…not quite what she had wanted. Her nerves felt like they were twisting tighter, like the string of a bow. A small part of her had hoped that he would lie fully on his back, allowing her a greater chance of escape…and spare her from carrying out the full length of her plan. No such luck. He had complied with her only so far as a compromise. But she was willing to work with it; take what she was given in order to put an end to this.
She teased his nipples, remembering his reaction to her rubbing against the ridged flesh earlier. He gave an inelegant grunt, masculine fingers gently slipped up and tangled within her hair. Encouraged, hesitation waning, she moved lower still. She kissed down the sweet salt of his abs, his navel…until she reached the straining bulge contained by his hakama.
It didn’t escape her notice that she was now able to move more liberally than before. As if her compliance to the situation had him granting her more freedom. She hoped that wasn’t the case. That it was only because he was so distracted by her ministrations. She hated the thought of being rewarded for her behavior: as if the aphrodisiac might be coercing his need to the point of rape. Kuchiki Taicho is better than that…I—I just need to…
She felt her eyes widen, fingers fumbling with the ties of his hakama. Her mouth went dry at the sight of him. Why wasn’t he wearing a fundoshi? Despite it seeming out of character, Orihime forced herself to drop the train of thought. Maybe he went commando all the time. It didn’t matter, anyway. If anything, it only made things easier for her.
She swallowed, vaguely wondering at the sensation of a bunch of cotton balls stuffed in her mouth. She desperately wished she could choke up a bit of spit. She was going to need it. More than a little nervous, she reached out a shaking hand.
The pads of her fingers were a mere butterfly touch; a whisper of a brush against the length of him. She was careful to avoid the head. She used her other hand to firmly caress his thigh, doing what she imagined was a titillating massage. If anything, his breath grew harsher, before he twisted onto his back entirely.
Her heart leapt up in elation at the movement, but felt it drop back into her stomach. His hand had locked around her wrist, affectively keeping her prisoner against him. Pretending she had not lost rhythm, Orihime continued, hyper aware of his fingers sifting through her hair.
She shuddered, not knowing why. This whole situation felt surreal. Gently, ever so slowly, her lips ghosted against his ridged flesh. He emitted another sound, erotic in nature. Encouraged, both hands came into play, her touch gaining confidence, whet with determination.
She kissed along this side of him, then along the other. Sucking wet, open-mouthed kisses against his sweet thighs. Pre-cum leaked from his slit, his breath more erratic than she had ever heard in combat. A response she elicited…
Heat prickled over her skin, but it had nothing to do with the air of her hot apartment. She coiled against him, nearly lost in mesmerizing activities that made him groan and shake. Suddenly, she swallowed as much of him as she could. He let out a shout as the tight, velvet, heat encasing him. His head smashed against her palate, taking him deeper toward her throat, nearly making her gag. She’d never done this before. Had never really thought of how to execute such a practice. But she bravely pressed on.
She bobbed her head against him, finding a tempo, her breasts brushing against his ridged flesh. A warmth spread through her limbs, a feeling of pleasure at having this kind of power over the normally stoic Taicho. She felt a confidence and reassurance rarely felt in her actions as she suckled him strongly, somehow enjoying the rich tang of his salty, unique flavor.
He went ridged.
She stuttered to a halt, worried she had hurt him. She let go with an audible, wet ‘pop,’ rushing her head upwards to confirm or deny her fear.
His azure eyes were focused on her countenance, rich with need. They were liquid with lust, and his burning stare seemed an intense, tangible thing. A promise and a threat. In spite of the heat, it made her flesh prickle. With yearning. With WANT.
Her nerves returned, then. Obviously, his lascivious gaze urged her onward. Oh! So he wasn’t in pain… He was close to….She swallowed, quelling the rest of that thought. Now that she had been interrupted, and fully aware of her surroundings, she didn’t quite have the courage to pick up where she had left off…She shifted, and found his burning gaze stray toward her impressive bosom…
Hesitantly, she cupped them delicately; smoothing her hands gently over herself. It felt a little strange…touching herself this way…With an audience…but she had his rapt attention. As well as another idea…
Without warning, she pressed her breasts tightly together, and used his shaft to penetrate the tight valley in between. Lubed as he was, from her earlier efforts, there was little resistance. She mimicked sex, thrusting herself up and down his length. Once, twice, three times…he didn’t make it to four. He erupted, a strained sound choking past his throat; startling her all over again as his body froze against her own.
She felt the essence of him: wet and sticky against her skin. His erratic breath began to slow, while her own came out in shallow gasps, as if she had just run a marathon. Her heartbeat continued to thunder in her ears. She licked her suddenly dry lips, the proof of their encounter on her chest.

Numbly, she was aware of her own arousal: an enticing, spiraling ache.
I did the right thing, Orihime rationalized dazedly, I—I only did what was necessary! Another part of her guiltily pointed out that she had gone too far. She had allowed herself to be distracted by the kaleidoscope of raw sensation. Blinded like an idiot by the titillation of her first experience with a man. She should have been stronger than this.
She should be able to handle herself after what happened in Hueco Mundo. How many times had she learned that she couldn’t rely on others to always come to her rescue—she was better than that. Those around her deserved better than that. It wasn’t enough to be protected. Not when she had the ability to protect.
She had meant to protect Kuchiki Taicho from himself by taking control….using an unconventional means. To play along for a time and allow either escape or perhaps work the drug from his system. But what had begun as a strategy to avoid their coupling had evolved into her taking advantage of him; of their whole screwed up situation. It was not something that could have been easily predicted, yet it had happened.

His eyes snapped open.
A lump rose in her throat. Those deep blue eyes were alert. And they were narrowed, focusing on her. He looks ticked off…Immediately, she began scooting back on the carpet, hugging her arm over the front of her chest. It was a futile gesture, and nothing was much left to the imagination after what they—what she, had done.

What…what do I do…?

A/N: Please review!! However, rude flamers without helpful, constructive criticism will be used to bake cookies ^_^

Reiatsu –spiritual pressure

Shun-po –flash step

Taicho –Captain

Rokubantai –Squad Six

Alma Gemela –‘Kindred Spirit’/ Soul Mate

Shihakusho – Shinigami clothes

Hueco Mundo—Hollow World, where Hollows (in various forms) reside. Although technically, proper Spanish requires for the adjective to follow the noun. Such as ‘La Casa Blanca’ (The House White)….so really it should read ‘Mundo Hueco,’ or ‘World Hollow’….but I’m just being picky.

Kenseikan—white hair ornament worn by Byakuya; an accessory meant only for nobility

Toca el caliente de la noche…despierta, sangre caliente –Touch the heat of the night…awaken (commanding wakefulness), hot blood.
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Heat Of The Night