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Heat Of The Night	By : AlmaGemela Category: Bleach > Het - Male/Female Views: 8351 -:- 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
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Disclaimer: Still not mine; no profit is or ever will be made. Which is a pity, on behalf of both my student loans and my fellow band of Bleach fans.

A/N: I'm torn between feeling proud for getting this out so fast and feeling kinda pervy for doing so. Hurrah perversions!

WARNING: Bit of food fetish ahead, as well as aggressive, kitchen-based fun that has little to do with the culinary arts. I tried hard to keep it from being

OOC. Especially for Orihime. In any case, not my fault if this stuff makes your eyes bleed.

Tap tap tap tap tap…

She stared intently at her paper, willing it to fill up with rapturous color in form of a beauteous sketch from the pencil she thoughtlessly drummed against it. It gazed balefully back, obstinate in its stark white countenance save for the few eraser crumbs littering its surface. Other failed attempts littered the floor in various states of abuse. Orihime sighed, pushing back from her desk and getting up in favor of distracting herself with the titillation of tea. It's no use…is this some sort of kharma for lying about Ochi-Sensei's assignment?...Artist's block…? Or am I really that oblivious about my true self…? Mulling over the warped sensibilities of the universe, she filled the kettle from the sink, placing it back on the stove before lighting up the burner. As she did, chills erupted across her flesh, minutely warning her before the stomach-dropping sensation was fully induced. Trying to ignore the sudden detection of reiatsu, as well as what it portended, she idly kept her back to the room. The kettle heated, moments away from boiling its contents. There was no sound, no suggestion that he was there. But she knew without turning, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he was. And that he was staring. Taking a much-needed breath for courage, she plastered a smile on before peeking over her shoulder.

"Good afternoon, Kuchiki Taicho! Your sister has asked after you. Have you spoken with her yet? I'm about to make some Jasmine tea, if you would like any…" Her cheeks reddened, recalling unbidden that had been his previous choice from before…things had gotten out of hand. She plowed on, trying to shake off her embarrassment. "So….um…How are you…"Her voice trailed off, lost in the silence he awarded her. She felt slightly numb, what with Byakuya gazing at her like that: a forceful acuity that spoke volumes in place of her empty, small words.

"That would be permissible. As to Rukia…she is not my concern for now." He tilted his head, cobalt eyes studying every fold of fabric that lay against her skin. Or at least that's how it felt. In any case, the way he was looking at her made her feel uneasy. Like she was being scrutinized and found to be lacking in some way. Chee, what must his opponents feel like? Trying to shrug it off his attentions, along with the over-full contents of her heavy mind, she pulled her favorite tea set from the cabinet. It had been a gift from her aunt; a ceramic affair with a matching cups, heavily lavished with pink and red blossoms and flower petals. Wordlessly, she began readying the pot with some jasmine as she willed the kettle to whistle its completion.

"So, um, what brings you here?"

"You." The word was spoken abrasively against her ear, rich like molasses. The abrupt feel of him standing practically against her made her throw the spoon she had been holding from her nerveless fingers. It clattered loudly against the floor; with bated breath she heard the rustle of clothing as he bent to pick it up. Wordlessly, he placed it within the sink, now standing in her peripheral vision. She laughed, anxiously praying it didn't make her sound as nervous as she felt. She could barely look at him.

"What? Um…I don't know what you…." He sighed. Did she detect a hint of disgust in the sound? The beginning crackle of boiling water obscured the telltale noise.

"It would be most beneficial, Inoue-san, if you would turn and face me." She felt a fission of nerves at his use of her name. Shoot. It was disgust. Or maybe he's just a bit irked in general…?

"Do I have to…?" She froze, unable to fathom her own lapse in judgment for letting that just slip out. If he wasn't irked before, he certainly is now…

"Yes," there was a slight lilt to the resonance of his voice, like he was fighting back a smile. Confused, she bravely gathered her strength of will and turned to face him. There were no telltale signs…but he didn't lookparticularly angry. In fact, he looked as apathetic as he usually did. Probably imagined it.

"Was there something that you wanted to disgust..? Ack, I mean 'discuss!' Discuss?" She covered her face, cheeks flaming at the Freudian slip. "What…did you want to talk about…?"She mumbled through her fingers. Another sigh. Definitely no annoyance there. In fact, she would hazard a guess that he was striving to be patient, based on his demeanor. It made her cautiously hopeful. Even if remnants of her pride still wanted to curdle up and die from embarrassment.

"I went to great lengths to further…understand this….my condition," there was a hesitancy, as if he were choosing his words carefully; like coaxing a spooked horse. Or a recently jaded girl—woman. I'm a woman now…I guess.

"Your 'condition'…?" Orihime frowned, comprehension fully dawning. "Are you…inferring you haven't been cured?…But…but I would have thought…Unohana Taicho—" He cut her off smoothly.

"Has limited resources or knowledge pertaining to this…particular compound." Her brows knit in concern, unbothered by the rising wheeze of the kettle as it announced its achievement.

"Are you okay? Are you in pain…?"She reached out, fingers lingering softly in the humid kitchen, but awoke from her unbidden trance at the kettle's growing shriek. She hurriedly prepared the tea, trying to ignore the fact that she had reached out to him…possibly offended him. Well, perhaps not the latter, considering what else they had done…There had certainly been more touching, then. Her cheeks blushed afresh as she wordlessly handed him a cup of steaming jasmine. He blew on it gently, silently brooding over the cups contents.

"I am not suffering, no…" his eyes traced her own, as if searching for something. She dropped eye contact first, hating how vulnerable he made her feel. "The symptoms will recur," he stated bluntly, "Of that much Unohana Taicho was certain." Orihime felt her eyes bug out. Hastily she put down her tea, afraid she might drop it in her shock and burn herself. Immediately, she hurried to the cabinet where she kept her peanut butter. She needed sustenance in form of comfort food, pronto. Finding the jar, she set about twisting open the lid, jamming in her finger before asking what needed to be said.

"W—why are you telling me this?" She dove in for a second taste. And another. And another. She noticed the way he was eyeing her as he set aside his own tea. There was no doubt about it. He was thoroughly repulsed by her behavior. Well, so what! She was a stress eater! Screw him. You already did that…her subconscious naughtily replied. Oh shut up!

"I thought that, perhaps—" This time she cut him off, waving her peanut buttery digits at him in accusation.

"Why are you telling ME this? Are you implying that there's…there's going to be a repeat of this…" she gesticulated wildly, trying to convey with the simple motion to infer what it was they had done, "whatever this is? Was?"

"I can't control when they will transpire," he snapped back, the vestige of anger and frustration in his tone.

"I'm still sore from the last time!" she wailed, flailing. "And then I had that horrible experience where your sister walked in on me and practically put the pieces together, and then I had to face Kurosaki-kun—"

"You told the boy?!" he was definitely angry now. His rising tone was evident. But Orihime was in too much of a panic to fully appreciate that fact.

"…And I had to go to that clinic, and I had to take that pill," she let out a hiccup, tears threatening as they burned at the back of her eyes and throat. She then rapidly espied the infuriating countenance of the man before her, and she quailed as he took a step toward her. Her heart filled with dread.

"My only objective," his intonation was deadly calm, belying the rage just beneath the surface of his words, "was to enlighten you out of concern for how you may feel in regards to the matter. Since you failed in my treatment before, and were insistent that I seek help thereafter, I only sought to alleviate your childish, incongruous sense of accountability in the affair." He tread closer, backing her against the counter, cutting off any possible retreat. " This has NOTHING to do with you, little girl. I merely extended the courtesy of informing you on the subject, as you were initially involved, and have an insufferable, perpetuating habit of—"

"Don't call me that!" Right, that sounded mature and convincing. Way to go, Inoue.

"Then refrain from acting like one," he snatched her hand then, glaring meticulously at the sandwich-spread that was innocently dappled across her skin. " And desist from coating your hands in this—" he never got to finish that sentence. She had been pushed too far—stretched too thin from stress and anxiety. She felt out of sorts, and out of control. Her own temper flaring hot, she peevishly dipped her other hand into the container and immediately smeared it rudely against his cheek. He stopped speaking, stunned at the action.

She felt gratified for a moment, delighting in the speechless look on his face brought on by the impetuous deed…at least until her conscience caught up with her brain. What did I just—I didn't mean…This isn't happening…this can't be happening…It repeated like a mantra inside her head, wishing the repetition would make it true. His eyes had darkened, narrowed in what she took to be rage. Orihime squeezed her eyes shut, hunching in on herself.

"I—I'm sorry! I didn't…I mean…"

"Get. Rid. Of. It." Each word was ground out with deadly precision. His voice had a rough timbre of raw fury…and perhaps something else. Small traces of fear took hold of her, whispering across her skin…but, surprisingly, her own spark of anger had not yet been completely extinguished. It burned quietly in her chest, awaiting to be fanned into a blaze. Or else smothered entirely. It could go either way.

Holding the ember inside of her close, desperately clinging to it in the hopes of it inspiring some sort of strength…she leaned up on her toes and brushed her tongue against his cheek. She expected him to let go of her. Violently push her away. Another part of her knew very well what the impulsive action could inspire. The board had been set. The pieces were now moving. She was walking on a razors edge, and a secret part of her, buried deep, relished her instigation of the game. Her stomach knotted; a whirlwind of emotions bubbling to the surface, growing hotter as the un-drunk tea lay abandoned on the linoleum, growing colder with each passing second.

He did nothing.

His breath quickened, deepening to a rasp. But he didn't move. Didn't release her. Throwing caution to the wind, she did it again. But this time, the touch was more lingering, wetly tracing toward his chiseled jaw. No response. Gaining confidence, she repeated the motion, licking him clean. Still nothing. Except, perhaps, that his eyes had closed. His lips were parted, breathing heavily against her own. Hesitantly at first, she nibbled softly at his features, swiftly moving to his neck as he made no move to discourage her actions. For the second time that night, she abandoned herself to chance. For the second time that night, she acted thoughtlessly. And this time she embraced it willingly. She thrust her fingers into the jar once more, sweeping them across his neck. He reacted then: stumbling gracelessly back a pace even as he reclined his head. His body's reactions spoke volumes. She accepted the invitation. She did it again, spreading it even thicker. Then she switched her attentions, eyeing the peanut butter that had extended from her still-captured hand within his own.

She licked him delicately, studying his every subtle reaction. His eyes were pressed shut, eyebrows knit as if in pain or frustration. She was surprised to find that she didn't really care. If she were honest with herself, she had been craving this. He had inadvertently given her a taste. She rubbed more onto the appendage, vigorously sucking it clean until he was inspired to retract his grip. She rewarded him by popping one of his fingers into her mouth, disconcerting him with her newfound aggression. She studied him, reveling in the strangely erotic assault of her own making. What was wrong with her? But a part of her knew. No one looked at her that way. Not the way Byakuya Kuchiki was looking at her now. He made her feel…desirable…Wanted. A yearning had been building up for some time; a tumultuous ache kept in the corner of her mind. She was tired of being rescued. Tired of always being someone's pawn. But for once…maybe just for right now…she could be the one in control. She was taking control of him. She doubled her efforts, unwilling to dwell on those thoughts. She didn't want to think. She just wanted to feel. And at the moment, he seemed to want to do the same.

"Orihime-chan! What's up?"

"Tatsuki-chan! How are you?"

"I'm good," she offered a grin, "can I come in? I brought you some of my mom's miso and leek stew."

"Oh, yes! Of course! Please do!" she chirped graciously. "Wow, miso and leek stew! Thanks, Tatsuki-chan." Tatsuki nodded in answer. She wrinkled her nose, immediately tipping Orihime off. It was an unconscious habit on her oldest friend's part; one she affected when thinking distractedly about something. Like when she perceived that there was something amiss. "What's going on? Anything new?" Darn right. The unicorns are going to stop following me home.

"Ah, no…not really…no…Oh! Did you finish Ochi-Sensei's assignment?" She attempted to divert her attention, knowing from experience that if she garnered her best friend's complete focus then she would fail to detect…whatever she might happen to notice. Those stray buttons from her poor blouse on the carpet, for instance… She gave Orihime an impish smile, unaware that her friend sought only to retain her interest for selfish reasons. She squelched the guilt down, tuning in to hear what she had to say. She doesn't need to know. No one does. It…it isn't their business. The faint memory of choking down a pill, and how curiously numb she had felt at the time, was pushed away.

"Having a bit of trouble with yours, Orihime-chan?" Orihime laughed depreciatively, "Yes, well…you know me…no robots this time! Although…"

"No." Tatsuki cut in immediately.

"But if I just —"

"No." she repeated emphatically. She broke out into a smile once again, the seriousness gone from her eyes as she dug in playfully. "Ochi-Sensei might blow a gasket if you did."

"Aw, Tatsuki-chan, you know that's not true. She didn't seem to mind the 'future me' assignment. She even said it was creative!" Tatsuki rolled her eyes, hopping up onto the counter as Orihime lit the stove and set about re-heating her free meal in a clean pot, replete with a wooden spoon.

"She was only being polite and you know it."

"I disagree," she sniffed, pretending to be affronted at the remark. "What do you think Kurosaki-kun drew for his?" Tatsuki's eyes became shadowed, and she studied Orihime, who avoided meeting her gaze resolutely. Instead, she focused on stirring her dinner. It had a pleasant smell that was making her mouth water, even if it seemed kind of boring. Not that she would ever admit that to Tatsuki. There's a lot you wouldn't admit to Tatsuki…

"Does it really matter?" her friend deadpanned, startling Orihime from her thoughts. For a horrifying minute, she thought Tatsuki had read her thoughts. Then she realized her friend had been referring to their classmate, and her once-upon-a-time crush…That explained the somewhat pitying gaze being leveled her way. She shrugged, relief lending her the ability to overlook her annoyance with Tatsuki's reaction.

"Just curious, is all. I'll bet anything it has something to do with spooks!" She was awarded a blank look.

"Spooks…?"

"You know!" Orihime waved her spoon emphatically, "Spooks! Ghosts and spirits!" She made spooky noises, whooshing about the kitchen as she did, before resuming watch over her stew. "He says he sees 'em…so his picture will probably reflect on that somehow!" She frowned, mulling over her phrasing. "You don't think that's offensive, do you?" Tatsuki scratched her head.

"…That he would somehow mention ghosts…?" Orihime shook her head, ginger hair flying.

"No! I mean, you don't think I'm being rude by calling spirits 'spooks,' right? I mean, I don't think its offensive, but you never know! Like when Columbus first landed in the Americas, and he called the native aborigines 'Indians' because he thought he had found passage to India…maybe they might have found it offensive! Or they would have…I'm not sure they really understood with the whole language barrier…" She trailed off, catching her friend's indulgent look.

"If you get any sweeter, Orihime-chan, you're going to give people cavities."

"But I wasn't being sweet," she wailed, "I was being serious! What if spirits really don't like being called that…Like Indians might not like being called Indians because they're not really from India."

"I don't really think it matters," Tatsuki replied wryly, slipping down from her perch, "I mean, whatever you call 'em, they're dead. What's there to get offended about? Any way…"She trailed off as she spotted something on the floor. Orihime didn't notice at first, turning off the stove as she sought out a bowl from the cupboard.

"What's this?" Orhime froze, dread lining the inside of her belly. A thousand possibilities flew through her mind. The receipt from the clinic…her torn blouse…a condom wrapper...She looked up, expecting the worst…only to be faced with an innocent, shiny button in Tatsuki's hand.

"Oh!" She chirped, picking it up and dropping it onto the counter, "I've been looking for that! Had a bit of a wardrobe malfunction," she tittered nervously, "good thing it happened before I left the house the other day!"

"I'll say," Tatsuki muttered, "So…how did that experiment with the hummus turn out the other night…?" Orihime grinned before deigning to answer. But the smile didn't quite reach her cinnamon eyes.

A/N: Who knew this would turn into the one-shot that just wouldn't die? I'm loving it!

Please review! Suggestions, comments, and critiques are always welcome! Thank you for reading!
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Heat Of The Night