Bleach Fan Fiction ❯ Heat Of The Night ❯ sucio ( Chapter 2 )

[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]

Disclaimer:  Still  not  mine.  I  just  like  to  play  with  them  once  in  a  while  for  no  other  
reason  than  perverted  enjoyment.  Hopefully  other  perverts  enjoy  my  playing  with  
them,  too!  
 
WARNING:  Blatant  lemon  and  non-­con  ahead.  Don’t  like  it,  don’t  read  it.  This  
story  is  meant  for  perverts  like  me,  anyway…as  well  as  my  fellow  nerds.  We’re  
creative  types!  
 
 
 
&Ac irc; 
 
((recap))  
 
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, & Acirc; 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.  
 
 
Whatâ€& brvbar;what  do  I  do…?  
 
 
 
 
There  was  no  warning.  
 
One  moment,  he  was  there:  intense,  cerulean  eyes  burning  into  her  own  hazel  
orbs…And  he  was  gone,  within  the  flicker  of  a  blink.    
 
She  might  have  believed  the  whole  encounter  had  simply  been  her  imagination.  But  
the  sticky  fluid  of  his  desire  had  begun  to  itch  atop  her  skin,  mixing  with  the  sweat  
caused  by  a  different  type  of  heat  that  continued  to  burn  from  within.  She  might  
have  questioned  his  sudden  absence.  Had  almost  choked  in  disbelief  as  denial  of  the  

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entire  experience  danced  beyond  her  reach,  knowing  he  had  used  a  shunpo  to  
escape…But  the  bone-­â€wrenching &Acir c; scream  of  a  hollow  twisted  in  the  night  air,  and  the  
hair  at  the  back  of  her  neck  prickled  at  the  feel  of  it’s  sand-&Aci rc;­â€papery  reiatsu.  Ohâ €¦so…he  
wasn†™t…he  went  to  kill  that  hollow…Disoriented,  stomach  tight  in  nauseous  anxiety,  
Orihime’s  eyes  numbly  cast  about  the  room.  A  part  of  her  felt  acute  relief  at  the  
reprieve,  and  slowly  she  felt  something  begin  to  loosen  inside.  He’s  g one…it’s…it&acir c;€™s  
going  to  be  fine…Itâ€&trade ;s  over,  and  tomorow  it’ll  all  be…Her  eyes  locked  onto  a  scarf  worth  
more  than  the  Seireitei,  and  a  blood-­â€soaked Â&n bsp;shihakusho,  both  discarded  
and…forgott en…  
 
Nerves  ripped  her  back  into  action.  Her  limbs  shook  even  as  she  stumbled  to  her  
feet,  frantically  racing  toward  the  bathroom  with  her  heart  in  her  mouth.  Quickly  as  
she  could,  she  immediately  began  to  run  the  bath,  never  removing  her  the  arm  from  
her  chest.  It  wasn’t  entirely  out  of  propriety’s  sake.  It  hurt  to  run  without  some  
mode  of  support;  a  nuisance  of  being  well  endowed.  At  least  when  it  came  to  trying  
to  move  fast.  And  she  needed  to  move  quickly.  Orihime  was  never  one  to  curse…but  
she  very  nearly  did  so  now.  Kurosaki-­â€kun  had  inadvertently  taught  her  some  
scorchers  over  the  years.  Come  on!  Come  on!  Hurry  up!  You  need  to  hurry  up!  
Scalding  water  hissed  from  the  faucet.  But  she  didn’t  care.  Precious  seconds  were  
ticking  away.    
 
He  would  be  back  any  moment.  She  was  certain  of  it.  One  such  as  Kuchiki  Taicho  
would  never  return  home  to  the  Seireitei  after  something  like  this…especially  half  
dressed,  clearly  nothing  to  do  with  battle.  And  even  then,  there  were  the  questions  
that  would  inevitably  go  unanswered.  Returning  to  his  Noble  House  in  the  Seireitei,  
without  a  shirt…no  physical  injuries…she  had  healed  him,  after  all.  It  wouldn’t  be  
hard  from  someone  like  Unohana  Taicho  to  discern  her  reiatsu’s  sig nature…put  two  
and  two  together…and  it  would  all  trail  back  to  her.  To  them.  What  they  did…what  
they  almost  did…Too  much  had  happened  in  such  a  short  span  of  time.  He  wasn’t  
the  type  to  leave  loose  ends…The  initial  relief  she  had  felt  at  his  unexpected  
departure  had  long  since  drained  away  in  the  face  of  her  escalating  panic.  She  was  
so  stupid  for  thinking  even  for  a  second  that  this  was  all  over.  
 
If  I’m  lucky,  he’ll  grab  his  clothes  and  demand  that  I  agree  to  a  vow  of  silence.  Heck,  
maybe  he’ll  even  have  some  paperwork  drawn  up  on  it  for  me  to  sign…!  
 
A  thin  giggle  escaped  her  mouth  at  the  thought  of  a  Rokubantai  squad  member  from  
Soul  Society,  at  Kuchiki  Taicho’s  behest,  urging  her  to  sign  her  life  away  under  pain  
of  death.  Or  maybe  they  knew  she’d  comply  under  threat  of  deprivation  of  red  bean  
paste.  Or  worse:  cut  her  off  from  her  newly  acquired  love  known  as  peanut  butter.  
Kuchicki  Taicho  certainly  knew  more  about  the  latter,  after  tonight…sheâ&euro ;™s  babbled  
about  it  enough…  Hysteria  and  panic  were  warping  her  sense  of  humor  about  the  
situation.    Keep  it  together!  Focus,  Inoue!   She  ripped  open  the  bathroom  door  and  
spun  toward  the  linen  closet.  In  one  deft  motion,  she  shoved  it  open  and  grabbed  a  
towel.  Her  fingers  clumsily  closed  onto  one  too  many,  but  she  didn’t  care.   Trying  to  
keep  the  mess  of  terry  cloth  from  making  contact  with  her  sticky  skin,  she  pivoted  

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and  darted  toward  the  bathroom  with  the  sound  of  water  groaning  into  the  tub.  
However,  she  was  thwarted;  slamming  face  first  into  the  sweat-­â€slicked  ; skin  of  a  
male  chest.  
 
He  had  stared  at  the  girl.  No…young  woman,  before  him.  His  thoughts  were  
completely  clear.  Whatever  Alma  Gemela  had  injected  in  his  blood  had  waned,  and  
with  it  waxed  his  sanity  and  reason.  He  didn’t  know  how  to  react.  He  had  been  
uncertain  just  what  it  was  he  intended  to  do.  This…situation,  was  a  bit  out  of  his  
depth.  And  so  he  had  simply  narrowed  his  eyes  at  her  in  thought,  striving  to  ignore  
the  generous  heaving  of  her  buxom  chest  as  she  took  in  fearful  puffs  of  air.  She  was  
aware  he  had  come  to  his  senses,  and  was  obviously  uncertain  of  his  reaction  to  
what  they  had  done.  What  they  had  almost  done.  What  he  had  forced  her  to  do.  
 
It  was  then  he  had  felt  the  abrasive  chafe  of  a  Hollow’s  reiatsu.  It  was  a  small  thing  
without  any  real  power.  One  he  ordinarily  left  to  lesser  Shinnigami,  in  that  
something  this  weak  and  mundane  posed  no  challenge  to  his  skill  set.  Rather,  such  a  
creature  only  threatened  boredom.  Albeit  in  this  case,  it  provided  an  opportunity  for  
distraction,  for    which  he  was  grateful.  He  would  admit  that  an  additional  benefit  
would  be  the  continued  absence  of  the  Kurosaki  boy.  A  hollow  of  this  insignificance  
was  just  the  type  to  draw  the  substitute  shinnigami  from  his  nightly  patrols  of  
Karakura,  and  his  presence  was  literally  the  last  thing  he  needed  at  the  moment.  
Before  Inoue-­â€san  had  a  chance  to  draw  her  next  breath,  he  immediately  used  a  
shunpo.  In  a  whirl  of  fabric,  he  had  retied  the  ties  of  his  hakama  and  briskly  leaped  
through  the  frame  of  her  window  into  the  heat-­â€soaked  night.  
 
He  scarcely  needed  any  effort  to  track  the  hollow;  in  mere  moments  he  had  it  
cornered  in  a  disused  alley.  Really,  he  could  have  finished  it  immediately,  even  
without  Senbonzakura.  But  the  familiarity  of  battle,  however  meager,  allowed  him  
to  fall  into  the  comfort  of  a  false  sense  of  security.  His  thoughts  had  been  skipping  
like  a  stone  over  water,  but  they  settled  quickly  like  a  rock  resolutely  drifting  
beneath  the  chaotic  surface.  As  he  went  through  the  practiced  motions,  battling  the  
hollow  with  deadly  precision  while  wearing  a  mask  of  indolent  disinterest,  he  felt  a  
necessary  calm  come  over  his  being.    Even  though  nothing  had  actually  been  
resolved.  He  felt  in  control,  and  that  was  a  start.  
 
With  a  final,  bone-­â€shivering &A circ; scream,  he  finally  put  the  creature  out  of  its  misery.  The  
battle  had  dragged  on  long  enough.  While  regretful  that  the  eradication  of  
Karakura’s  latest  threat  hadn’t  permitted  a  greater  use  of  his  dexterity,  Byakuya  
knew  that  a  timely  abolition  had  been  a  preferable  outcome.  It  would  not  do  for  the  
boy,  or  any  other  shinnigami  for  that  matter,  to  come  across  him  in  this  state.  To  say  
nothing  of  the  boy’s  inevitably  misguided  reaction  to  his  person  being  without  a  
shirt  or  even  a  zanpakuto,  the  effects  Inoue-­â€san  had  on  his  person  still  lingered.  
Likely,  in  his  inept  and  rash  way,  the  substitute  shinnigami  may  have  discovered  
what  had  in  fact  transpired  between  himself  and  the  mortal  girl  by  jumping  to  
justifiable  conclusions.  Though  the…occurrenceâ& euro;¦had  largely  been  influenced  by  an  
Arrancar’s  poison,  he  could  not  in  all  honesty  claim  complete  innocence  in  the  

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matter.  He  could  deny  it  all  he  wished.  In  the  end,  it  was  merely  ash  in  the  wind,  left  
by  a  violently  raging  fire.  Byakuya  had  willingly  embraced  the  passion,  long-­â ;€buried  
and  feared  dead,  when  he  should  have  continued  to  fight  its  influence.  
 
 
Theâ€&brvb ar;young  woman  had  pleasured  himâ€&brvba r;presumably  out  of  duty,  or  perhaps  out  of  
some  misguided  obligation  to  tend  his  baser  needs  which  the  aphrodisiac  had  raised  
to  the  surface.  Like  bubbles  churning  upward  in  boiling  water,  the  heat  had  
overwhelmed  and  blistered  the  both  of  them.  The  fact  of  the  matter  remained  that  
he  should  have  resisted  the  pull…It  had  only  been  fifty  years,  but  the  ache  of  not  
holding  a  woman  had  not  been  buried  deep  enough  to  keep  from  reaching  out  and  
hurting  a  woman  who  was  scarcely  more  than  a  girl.  A  part  of  him,  however  small,  
acknowledged  that  he  had  obligingly  abandoned  his  normally  iron  will  when  faced  
with  temptation’s  call.  That,  on  some  level,  he  found  her  desirable.  Another  part  of  
himself  was  shocked  that  she  had  given  in…and  even  more  that  they  had  both  
enjoyed  it.  Gratification  aside,  the  fact  that  his  appetite  had  been  fed  did  not  forgive  
his  indulgence.  He  had  more  control  of  his  facilities  than  that.  He  knew  this;  had  
acknowledged  this.  And  yet  he  had  given  in.  
 
As  had  she…  
  He  ignored  his  subconscious.  It  would  not  do  to  focus  on  something  as  irrational  as  
that.  She  may  just  as  likely  have  given  him  what  he  wanted  because  she  actually  had  
no  choice  in  the  matter.  He  was  stronger  than  her,  both  physically  and  mentally.  
Granted,  he  had  grudgingly  acknowledged  to  himself  long  ago  that  her  spiritual  
powers  were  something  to  contend  with.  But  when  it  came  to  this…she  had  been  
helpless,  and  outmatched.  He  had  taken  without  asking.  
 
You  only  took  what  was  offered.  
 
He  was  immediately  disturbed  by  the  thought:  of  how  the  sanctity  of  the  inner  
recesses  of  his  mind  seemed  to  crave  an  excuse  for  what  he  had  done…for  what  he  
had  been  about  to  do…After  all,  she’d  had  no  real  choice  in  the  matter.  Much  of  the  
control  he  had  regained  through  battle  was  already  slipping  through  his  fingers,  like  
pale  smoke,  as  he  began  to  brood.    
 
In  a  quick  shunpo,  he  acrobatically  re-­â€entered  Inoue-­â€san’s &Acir c; home  through  her  
window,  involuntarily  approaching  the  young  woman.  Things  needed  to  be  said,  and  
he  would  not  put  off  the  inevitable  any  longer  than  he  had  to.  He  was  not  one  to  
mince  words,  even  if  he  now  had  trouble  summoning  them  to  his  lips.  They  needed  
closure…if  nothing  else.  
 
She  slammed  into  him  unexpectedly,  causing  his  breath  to  escape  in  a  rush.  
Obviously,  she  had  not  anticipated  his  return.  The  sound  of  rushing  water,  coupled  
with  the  steam  escaping  her  room  of  bathing,  allied  his  suspicions.  It  seemed  she  
was  mere  moments  away  from  having  that  bath  she  had  mentioned  earlier.  Despite  

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the  fabric  of  terry  cloth  against  his  skin,  he  could  feel  her  soft  curves  press  against  
him,  still  wet  from  their  earlier  activities.  It  nearly  made  him  groan.  Though  whether  
the  sound  was  born  out  of  frustration  or…tensionâ €¦he  was  unsure.  Instead,  he  closed  
his  eyes  in  an  agonized  gesture,  and  gently  guided  her  a  step  away  from  his  person.  
 
This  effectively  boxed  her  in  against  the  sliding  door  of  her  linen  closet,  something  
that  Orihime  did  not  fail  to  take  note  of.  She  felt  more  than  a  little  frazzled.  She  
should  have  noticed  his  reiatsu  before  barreling  into  him.  It  just  went  to  show  how  
distracted  she  was.  Embarrassment  lent  a  flush  to  her  cheeks,  and  the  crimson  blush  
spread  down  her  flesh  and  left  goose  bumps  in  its  wake.  
 
“Uhâ€&brv bar;welcome  back?† Her  voice  cracked,  making  them  both  cringe.  He  didn’t  reply:  
simply  studying  her,  at  a  loss  for  what  to  do.  What  to  say.  The  tub  will  be  full  soon.  
Her  thought  came  unbidden.  But  that  came  as  no  surprise.  Orihime  knew  she  was  
random.  Tatsuki  reminded  her  daily.  That  was  expected.  But  this…was  anything  but.  
What  do  I  say?. .C’mon, Â&n bsp;Inoue,  THINK!  
 
“Iâ€&trad e;m  glad  you’re  feeling  better!† She  babbled  abruptly.  He  stared,  unmoving,  his  arms  
still  braced  on  either  side  of  her.  Leaving  her  still  feeling  caged  in.  “Did  you&acir c;€”did  you  
change  your  mind  about  your  shihakusho?  I  mean,  I  know  you  came  back  for  your  
scarf,  too,  since  it’s  so  expense  and  all.  But  I  can  still  try  and  get  some  of  the  blood  
out…I  just…I  need  to  bathe  first…Iâ€&tr ade;m  feeling  a  little…dirtyâ€&b rvbar;after…After  that† She  
made  a  vague  gesture,  flicking  her  wrist.  As  if  that  gesture  alone  could  sum  up  what  
it  was  they  had  done.  He  continued  to  stare.  But  his  normally  implacable  expression  
looked  slightly  incredulous.  
 
†œâ€¦You  feel  dirty…â€he &A circ; intoned.  She  nodded  emphatically;  relieved  he  had  actually  
spoken.  Even  if  he  had  only  parroted  what  she  said  back  to  her.  It  didn’t  escape  his  
notice  that  she  was  shivering  despite  the  heat.  He  attributed  it  to  nerves.  The  Taicho  
of  Rokubantai  wasn’t  wrong.  Orihime  was  beginning  to  feel  like  a  bundle  of  nerves.  
Earlier  they  had…had  intimate  relations,  and  he  had  disappeared.  Granted,  it  had  
been  to  take  care  of  a  hollow.  All  the  better  to  protect  the  citizens  of  Karakura.  She  
knew  that.  Heck,  she  approved  of  it.  What  was  more,  it  left  little  possibility  for  
Kurosaki-­â€kun  to  happen  by  and  get  the  wrong  idea  about…well,  whatever  the  heck  
this  was.  Though  she  would  admit  that  she  had  initially  feared  that  Kuchiki  Taicho  
had  left  out  of  disgust.    
 
Thank  Kami  her  initial  assumption  had  been  wrong!  But  that  still  left  the  current  
problem  of  his  close  proximity  and  the  perplexing  look  on  his  face.  She  would  never  
say  so  aloud,  but  she  had  on  occasion  thought  that  Kuchiki-­â€canâ& euro;™s  older  brother  was  a  
bit  emotionally  constipated.  He  rarely  showed  emotion.  Even  when  his  sister  had  
been  wrongfully  convicted  and  been  given  an  excessive  sentence,  he  hadn’t  batted  
an  eye  until  the  end.  He  had  been  fatally  injured  by  the  time  he  had  finally  sought  to  
save  his  sister;  as  if  the  senselessness  of  his  inaction  up  until  that  point  had  literally  
been  beaten  into  him  by  Kurosaki-­â€kun  earlier.    In  fact,  had  they  
not…participated&ac irc;€¦in  certain  activities  ,  she  might  have  assumed  he  existed  without  

---

any  real  passion  in  his  day-­â€to-­& acirc;€day  life.  Afterlife.  Whatever  you  might  call  the  life  of  a  
shinnigami.  Obviously,  that  had  been  put  to  rest.  Her  head  was  swimming,  
wondering  what  it  was  he  now  wanted.  He  was  just  standing  there.  Standing  there  
half  naked  with  his  muscles  slicked  with  sweat  and…  
 
& acirc;€œOh,  well,  you  know…â€Her &Ac irc; voice  trailed  away,  for  once  at  a  loss  for  words.  His  smoky  
eyes  flickered,  almost  appraisingly.  She  felt  her  mouth  run  dry  for  a  second  time  that  
night,  unsuccessfully  trying  to  be  discreet  as  she  tried  to  effectively  block  her  
generous  chest  from  view.  The  towels  were  beginning  to  slip  from  her  grasp.  Just  
like  the  subject  at  hand.  Just  what  IS  the  subject?  Her  subconscious  remarked  
snidely.  She  chose  to  ignore  that  one,  determined  to  press  on.  She  was  imagining  
things.  Of  course  he  wasn’t  checking  her  out.  The  aphrodisiac  was  out  of  his  system  
by  this  point…His  eyes  had  cleared,  and  he  had  obviously  taken  care  of  the  hollow.  
So  he  was  fine.  It  was  fine.  This  would  all  be  forgotten.  Put  behind  them.  
 
Wouldn’t  it?  
 
Byakuya  felt  a  spike  of  anger  at  her  words:  at  the  careless  choice  of  them.  He  could  
understand  if  she  chose  to  rail  at  him;  screamed,  cried  and  demanded  he  leave  her  
presence.  Instead  she  was  brushing  it  all  off.  As  though  her  innocence  had  not  just  
been  compromised  by  the  head  of  a  Noble  family  at  the  behest  of  an  Arrancar’s  
toxin.  She  acted  dismissive  toward  the  whole  situation.  Her  complacency  astounded  
him.  And  it  enraged  him.  He  was  angry  with  himself,  with  the  whole  situation.  The  
embers  of  his  self-­â€loathing  ; that  had  cooled  now  fanned  into  a  blaze  on  her  behalf:  
for  allowing  herself  to  be  so  callously  used  by  others.    
 
It  didn’t  bother  her  in  the  least  that  she  was  taken  for  granted  by  the  Kurosaki-­â€brat  ; 
everyone  but  him  seemed  to  worship.  Even  if  the  boy  was  not  without  honor,  and  
ignorant  of  how  his  actions  affected  her,  that  was  no  excuse.  She  hadn’t  flinched  
when  she  had  been  captured  by  Aizen,  though  admittedly  all  danced  through  the  
bastard’s  treacherous  manipulation.  And  now  she  had  been  used  by  him,  a  Noble  of  
house  Kuchiki,  and  chose  to  hold  no  grudge  or  injury  at  the  transgression.  In  fact,  
she  almost  appeared  to  welcome  and  expect  it.  It  was  unacceptable.  She  deserved  
better.  
 
Unaware  of  his  darkening  thoughts  and  the  path  they  had  taken,  Orihime  ducked  
beneath  his  arm,  seeking  sanctuary  in  the  steaming  bathroom  beyond.  The  tub  was  
definitely  full  by  now.  It  might  even  now  be  under  threat  of  over-­â€flowing.   She  was  
tugged  from  her  thoughts  as  towels  clutched  in  her  hands  were  yanked  from  her  
arms.  Shocked,  she  grappled  with  the  faded  corner  of  a  vaguely  yellow  towel,  
managing  to  hold  up  the  fabric  and  cover  the  view  of  her  chest  without  having  to  
make  actual  contact.  Byakuya  continued  to  hold  the  other  end,  the  others  lying  
discarded  around  them  on  the  floor  in  bright  bundles  of  cloth.  
 
“Is  that  all?† His  voice,  normally  a  rich  velvet,  sounded  rough.  Like  the  fabric  of  it  
sheathed  crushed  glass;  perilous  beneath  the  surface.  

---

 
 
“What?† It  came  out  as  more  of  a  squeak.  She  wanted  to  get  to  the  dang  bathroom  
already.  She  wasn’t  ready  for  this  confrontation.  She  wanted  a  few  hours  to  herself.  
She  needed  to  clean  up  and,  under  the  guise  of  that  familiar  activity,  soothe  her  
whirling  mind  as  it  spun  through  all  that  had  happened.  She  was  a  virgin…but  not  
really  an  innocent.  Not  like  the  connotation  the  word  would  suggest.  Not  any  more.  
She  was  having  trouble  wrapping  her  head  around  it.  Did  that  make  her  a  partial  
virgin?  On  the  precipice  between  naïveté  and  forbidden  knowledge?    
 
 
“Y ou  said  that  you  feel  dirty…â€The & Acirc; roughening  timbre  of  his  voice  ended  in  a  sibilant  
hiss:  like  oil  over  silk.  It  washed  over  her,  painting  across  her  flesh  to  leave  goose  
bumps  in  its  wake.  
 
 
Sh e  winced,  realizing  he  was  pissed.  What’s  he  so  mad  about?  Does  he  want  me  to  
apologize?  She  worried  her  bottom  lip  frantically.  His  eyes  darkened,  fastening  on  
the  delicious  movement.  
 
 
“I ’m  sorry,  but  I  am!  I’m  filthy!&a circ;€  She  tugged  at  the  once-­â€banana-Â& shy;â€hued  terry  cloth,  
frantic  for  escape.    
 
 
â €œWhy  are  you  running?† She  wasn’t  imagining  it.  He  was  pissed.  
 
“Iâ€&trad e;m  not  running!† she  denied,  darting  past.  
 
Her  tore  the  yellow  towel  from  her  hands.  It  slipped  away  like  butter,  leaving  her  
hands  to  flutter  desperately.  He  then  reached  and  seized  her  wrists,  gathering  them  
into  one  hand  before  spinning  her  around  so  that  her  back  was  pressed  against  his  
chest.  The  skirt,  her  only  remaining  article  of  clothing,  stuck  to  them  in  a  tangle  of  
polyester.  The  combined  sweat  of  their  bodies  kept  the  fabric  in  place.  She  emitted  a  
squeak,  losing  her  breath  as  he  growled  into  the  delicate  shell  of  her  ear.  
 
“You.  Are.  Running.† It  was  an  accusation,  yet  her  heart  leapt  into  her  throat  at  the  
promise  suggested  in  his  tone.  Or  was  it  a  threat?  He  easily  wrestled  her  to  the  
bathroom,  steam  curling  about  their  twisted  limbs  as  it  occurred  to  the  girl  that  she  
ought  to  struggle.  Water  spilling  from  the  tub  cascaded  over  it  sides,  reaching  past  
the  tiles  for  the  drain  in  the  middle  of  the  floor.  The  towel  fell  to  the  ground  and  
began  to  darken  to  ochre  as  water  seeped  its  way  through  the  cloth.  The  darkening  
color  of  the  fabric  quickened  once  Orihime’s  knees  descended  and  crushed  it  further  
onto  the  floor.  
 

---

“Whâ&euro ;”what  are  you  doing?† He  paused,  as  if  weighing  the  question  for  the  first  time.  
As  though  his  actions  had  not  fully  crossed  his  mind  until  that  moment.  She  nearly  
let  out  a  breath  of  relief,  but  choked  when  his  moment  of  collection  ended.  The  ties  
of  his  hakama  came  apart  like  butter  by  the  practiced  movement  of  his  hand.  He  
leaned  over  her  then,  crouching  over  her  hot  flesh,  forcing  her  down.  The  back  of  
her  thighs  were  touching  his  own.    
 
“I  should  ask  you  the  same  question† It  was  grated  against  the  back  of  her  neck.  
 
She  swallowed  reflexively,  words  bubbling  up  past  her  throat  only  to  bottleneck  at  
her  mouth,  “T—t aicho…!† Water  continued  to  stream  across  the  tiles  of  the  floor.  It  
felt  warm,  like  the  blood  pulsing  beneath  her  hot  and  sticky  skin.  Her  heart  gave  a  
deep  lurch  at  the  feel  of  him:  his  hand  smoothly  caressing  over  her  hip,  now  rapidly  
descending  toward  her  sinfully  damp  curls.  He  plucked  at  a  beading  nipple,  causing  
her  delicate  flesh  to  becoming  ridged  with  want.  With  need.  It  left  her  tense  and  
bewildered,  and  she  struggled  against  his  steel  grip.  
 
“Youâ€&tr ade;re  far  from  being  filthy  enough,† he  murmured  roughly.  Fingers  then  stroked  
her  center,  staggering  her  with  a  spiraling  pleasure  that  left  her  trying  to  swallow  
back  the  sounds  it  caused.  Fire  licked  along  her  veins  in  a  dizzying  rush  of  desire,  
and  the  blossom  of  yearning  once  again  began  to  grow.  It  coiled  within  her,  tighter  
until  it  became  a  spiraling  ache.  Oh,  Kami!  She  was  so  close…!  His  hands  slipped  
away,  quick  as  water.  The  tearing  scream  of  dampened  fabric  announced  her  skirt’s  
demise.  
 
The  sudden  absence  left  her  shaken,  trembling  in  the  wake  of  being  touched.    
 
She  opened  her  eyes  so  fast  they  watered.  When  had  she  even  closed  them?  A  dull  
sort  of  agony  was  eating  away  at  her  veins  from  within,  making  her  desperate.  Why  
had  he  stopped?  She  had  been  close…so  unbearably  close  to  that  delicious  
precipice…!  Her  thoughts  were  erratic;  scattered  like  koma  jumbled  up  all  wrong  on  
a  Go  board.    
 
 A  confusing  mishmash  of  excitement  and  adrenaline  nearly  blinded  her  to  feel  of  his  
returning  hands,  passionately  grasping  her  hips  before  fitting  his  thick  length  at  her  
entrance.  Orihime  hardly  had  time  to  draw  in  a  shallow  breath  as  his  shaft  began  to  
penetrate,  inch  by  glorious  inch.  It  took  all  she  had  not  to  scream.  
 
“Tâ€&rdqu o;Taicho…B…Byakuya!†&A circ; Her  voiced  sounded  raw  even  to  her  own  ears.  He  barely  
paused  at  the  use  of  his  name.  Deceptively  gentle  fingers  fondled  a  breast,  coaxing  
out  a  whimper.  
 
“Again!† His  voice  was  iron.  Roughened  with  emotion  as  he  slipped  further  into  her  
welcoming  warmth.  The  strength  of  his  touch  increased,  and  her  heaving  breasts  
shook  at  the  feel  of  him.  
 

---

“Wha-Â&sh y;â€-­â€-­â€?â €  The  feel  of  his  agonizingly  slow  thrust  urged  her  other  senses  beneath  a  
sort  of  overwhelming  haze.  She  couldn’t  think,  she  couldn’t  brea the…!  
 
“Say  my  name.† It  was  murmured  hotly  behind  her  ear.  Numb  with  shock,  she  
complied  on  a  reflex.  
 
â€&oeli g;Byakuya…sam—“ & Acirc; She  couldn’t  finish.  A  sound  came  from  his  throat  then,  and  with  
a  final  lurch  he  was  seated  fully  inside  her.  Those  beautiful,  terrible  hands  were  
stroking  over  her  fevered  skin,  pushing  her  toward  that  pleasurable  cliff  that  
beckoned  with  sweet  release.   The  rhythm  was  hesitant  at  first,  a  sheer  suggestion  
that  hinted  at  the  depth  of  control  the  Taicho  of  the  Rokubantai  still  maintained  over  
his  facilities.  But  as  Orihime’s  shallow  breathing  began  to  keen  into  passionate  
whimpers,  a  true  beast  became  unleashed.  His  vacillating  pace  gave  way  to  a  pulsing  
regularity  of  strength  and  frenetic  lust.  
 
He  pounded  away  into  her  welcoming  cunt,  a  quiet  fury  burning  at  the  back  of  his  
mind.  He  hadn’t  known  exactly  why  he  reacted  the  way  he  had.  Byakuya  had  only  
meant  to  return  to  the  girl  in  order  to  dispel  any  thoughts  on  her  part  of  divulging  
what  had  happened.  But  when  he  had  seen  her:  thoroughly  covered  in  the  arousing  
evidence  of  their  recent  activities,  and  merrily  dismissive  of  the  entire  ordeal,  had  
kindled  a  sort  of  fury.  A  selfish  part  of  him  had  wanted  her  to  face  that  truth,  if  for  no  
other  reason  than  to  acknowledge  its  occurrence.  It  had  been  decades  since  he  had  
touched  a  woman,  drug-­â€induced  or  no.  And  to  have  her  not  only  deny  the  incidence,  
but  happily  move  beyond  it  so  much  as  a  tatami  mat  welcomed  being  stepped  
upon…He  had  lost  his  barely-­â& euro;attained  control.  
 
He  wanted  Orihime  Inoue.  Perhaps  for  unclear  reasons  that  did  not  extend  beyond  
an  initial  aphrodisiac’s Â& nbsp;influence.  But  that  did  not  change  the  fact  that  he  wanted  
her;  more  importantly,  he  wanted  her  to  face  herself.  To  face  the  fact  that  she  was  so  
readily  and  even  easily  used  by  others:  from  the  ignorant  blunders  of  the  Kurosaki  
boy,  to  the  mechanistic  schemes  of  fellow  shinnigami.  It  had  even  extended  of  late  to  
the  lowly  manipulations  of  the  traitor,  Aizen.  She  had  taken  it  all  in  stride  and  
seemed  to  have  even  begged  for  more.  
 
He  was    angry  with  her;  angry  with  himself:  enraged  that  she  would  so  easily  give  in  
and  give  up.  She  was  capable  of  being  so  much  stronger  than  that;  a  woman  with  
untested  mettle.  A  small  piece  of  his  vanity  could  attribute  to  his  current  actions  in  
forcing  her….  It  was  a  contradiction:  to  want  her  to  stand  up  for  herself,  to  yearn  for  
her  to  fight,  while  suppressing  any  such  actual  ability  by  giving  in  to  his  own  carnal  
hunger.  A  thread  of  his  sanity,  which  still  lingered  beneath,  was  aware  of  that  
hypocrisy.    But  he  couldn’t  stop.  It  was  selfish  on  his  part,  and  perhaps  even  
incredibly  cruel.  But  that  line  of  reasoning  had  fled,  and  with  it  all  logical  thought  
when  faced  with  the  idea—with  the  possibility—  that  she  felt  filthy  after  their  near  
coupling  when  he  himself  had  felt  nothing  but  desire.  
 

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A  muffled  shriek  came  from  Inoue’s  lips,  signaling  her  release  She  had  dropped  to  
her  arms,  fatigue  sapping  her  strength.  Her  voluptuous  derriere  became  more  
vulnerable  to  Byakuya’s  attentions.  He  grit  his  teeth  at  the  sight  before  him,  striving  
to  hold  back  even  as  he  felt  her  hot  and  pulsing  quim  squeezing  his  cock.  Ridged  
with  control,  he  gingerly  turned  Orihime  on  to  her  back  to  be  viewed  in  all  her  glory.  
Her  body  was  rich  of  liquid,  beading  along  her  beautiful  skin.  Her  normally  lovely  
hair  was  a  mess  of  unruly  knots,  and  her  chest  heaved  in  exhaustion.  But  it  was  only  
the  beginning.  
 
 
 
&Ac irc; 
A/N:  Please  read  and  review!  
 
 
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