Bleach Fan Fiction ❯ Murder My Heart ❯ The Line ( Chapter 11 )

Disclaimer: I do not own Bleach or any Bleach affiliates.

 

 

(A/N: Good lord peoples, didn't know you wanted to read it that much. Wow, I feel really special now. But here you go, since I've gotten 6 reviews from people yelling at me for cutting the chapter I'll post it a bit early. Geesh. On another note, when I have a crappy day I come home and read all the nice things your people write, it really cheers me up.

ENJOY AND REVIEW!!!)

 

 

 

 

Chapter 11

 

 

Ichigo looked up from his set of papers and casually glanced over at Rukia. Her hair was falling near the top of her desk and her eyes were hooded by her eyelashes. He knew she was tired, he could see the purple shadows that were exposed under the pale skin of her cheeks. Casually, he glanced at his watch and saw it was nearly six. Jesus, how long was she going to stay here? It was Christmas Eve for god's sake! Didn't she have somewhere to be? Church? Home? A restaurant? She wasn't going to work on Christmas, was she?

 

“Rukia,” he said softly.

 

She raised her head slowly before blinking twice and searching his face, as if looking for any hint of a trick hidden in the skin of his cheeks or the fine hairs of his eyebrows. She cleared her throat and shook a bit of hair out of her face.

 

“Yes?” She asked. Her voice was a bit weak but there was still the sharply biting edge in her tone he had grown to relish.

 

“Aren't you going home?” He asked her, leaning forward just a bit and resting his elbows on their desk. “Or to a restaurant… or church…?”

 

Her brows furrowed and she gave him a strange glare. “No… why?”

 

Ichigo scoffed slightly and stretched his spine languorously, “Because, you idiot, Christmas is tomorrow.”

 

“Doesn't mean I have to do actually do anything.” She replied nastily, thumbing through a few more papers.

 

“Christmas was created so people could celebrate,” he said, shrugging his shoulders and grinning obnoxiously.

 

“Really?” She snorted, “I thought it had something to do with religion and the birth of a savior.” She smirked cattily and shook her head, “But you know, what the hell, gimme a shot and another couple of rounds of vodka and we can just forget all about tradition or religion.”

 

Ichigo grinned, “Well I do believe Rukia Kuchiki just made a joke.”

 

“Well I do believe Ichigo Kurosaki has a brain.” She quipped.

 

Ichigo groaned and rolled his head back. Some days… talking to her was just futile.

 

Rukia went back to ignoring him as she scribbled away at her papers and tapped at the computer keyboard. Ichigo watched her as she wrote and poked, keeping her head down and her attention focused on the task at hand.

 

Inwardly chastising himself, Ichigo knew he should be the one doing most of their paperwork, seeing has how she was the one who was working like some type of paper-filing robot. Ichigo felt his inner wickedness die down inside and found himself—once again—looking at her.

 

It was more of a habit now than anything else—watching her, that is. He just liked to look at her, at the way she would bite her lower lip when reading a report or scowl while glancing at crime scene photos or even when she was typing, her delicate fingers touching the plastic keys with such ease and efficiency. Every simple movement she made was like she was making it just so his eyes could watch her.

 

It made him wonder what would happen if those fingers and that mouth ran over his entire body…

 

Ichigo blinked quickly and immediately looked down at his pants, cursing the slight bulge pressing against the front of them. Good thing he stopped those treacherous thoughts before they had gone any further. He might have had to bury himself in his desk for an hour get to rid of the damn near persistent erection.

 

Ichigo raised his arm once again and looked at the blinking lights on his digital watch. Sighing once again he pushed back his chair—careful not to bump into anyone else's in the process—and proceeded to slide his arms through the sleeves in his coat.

 

“Get up,” he commanded softly to Rukia, who had raised her eyes at his abrupt movements.

 

“What?” She asked, “Why?”

 

“Because,” he said clearly, bracing his hands on the desk and grinning at his partner, his face only a few inches from hers, “I'm taking you to dinner.”

 

Rukia's steel-grey eyes hardened even more. “You are not.”

 

“I beg to differ,” Ichigo replied, “Come on, it's Christmas Eve and you and I have nothing better to do than just sit around and do—”

 

“Our jobs?” She finished for him, snapping a folder shut on her desk and standing up. She came nose to nose with Ichigo—as he was still leaning over and about half of his original height—and began to growl. “Besides, I wouldn't want to go anywhere with you.”

 

Ichigo's smirk turned into a slick grin, “What if I promise for tonight not to touch, grope, grab, suck, kiss, or rub any part of your body?” He leaned forward just a bit more. “Would that work for you?”

 

Rukia eyed him suspiciously, her astonishing eyes narrowed into a glare of distrust. “Then what will you get out of it?”

 

Ichigo grinned, his handsome features twisting in amusement, “Why, Rukia, I get the stimulating pleasure of your company.”

 

“No thank you,” she said coldly, turning around and placing the files in the alphabetized cabinet.

 

“It's Italian,” he told her, emphasizing the last word with an upward inflection. He watched as her spine stiffened and she turned around to glare at him.

 

“That's low.” She said.

 

Ichigo shrugged, “Hey, whatever works.”

 

Rukia's lungs heaved a heavy sigh and she turned to him glaringly. “So long as you keep your promise and don't… do anything.” She held out her hand to him and narrowed her eyes. “Are we clear?”

 

“Clear as crystal.” Ichigo said as he grasped her hand in his, he gripped it tightly as they shook and wondered what her reaction would be if he pulled her towards him and started kissing her.

 

She'd probably pull out her gun and shoot me in the face. He thought as he released his fingers from hers.

 

Without another word to him, Rukia strode over to the coat rack and pulled down her newly acquired navy blue jacket, she quickly tugged it around her shoulders and then added the now-infamous bunny scarf—which she promptly wrapped around her neck. Stuffing her hands inside of her pockets she turned to Ichigo and raised an eyebrow. “Okay,” she said, “Where's my food?”

 

Ichigo shook his head and sighed softly as he pushed past her and headed for the door, grabbing his keys in the process, “You're never going to change.”

 

“Nope,” Rukia said, “Not anytime soon.”

 

Ichigo opened the door to the precinct and felt the blisteringly cold air blast against his unprotected face. His eyes immediately watered as the wind continued to whip around him but he stayed until Rukia came out of the precinct and stood beside him. The entire bottom half of her face was covered by her bunny-scarf, the rest was beginning to pink with cold. Her hair was whipping fiercely into her face as well and Ichigo wondered if it stung.

 

“Come on,” she told him, her voice muffled by the scarf, “I want my plate of chicken marsala.”

 

Ichigo snorted into the wind and watched as his breath transformed into a tiny puff of smoke. “Alright, alright, come on. I know this great place near the edge of the city…”

 

As Ichigo led Rukia to the car he couldn't help but reflect on what he had said to her earlier. “You're never going to change.”

 

No… she wasn't.

 

And he was glad.

 

~-~-~-~-~-~-~-

 

Ichigo didn't know why he had thought to bring Rukia to an Italian restaurant. Seriously, if he got a semi-hard on simply by looking at her, he should have expected to get a complete boner just by watching her eat.

 

Ichigo swallowed with discomfort while he looked at her slip a strand of freshly made spaghetti through her pursed lips. She must have some type of blessing on her body, that must be it, Ichigo thought—almost helplessly. To be so… sexy in everything she did—from typing on a keyboard to simply eating a piece of spaghetti. She was the very definition of sexual potency. Everything she did, every image she put into his head, every single fucking goddamn thing was making him think of spreading her out on the table, dripping spaghetti sauce onto her naked body, and then licking it all from her skin.

 

Rukia looked up from her dish and cocked an eyebrow, “Something wrong?” She nodded at his plate, “You've hardly touched your food.”

 

Ichigo swallowed and cleared his throat before he shook his head and offered a half-grin. “No, I'm fine. It's just hot.”

 

Rukia blinked at him.

 

He cleared his throat again and said, “The food. I meant that the food is hot.”

 

“Oh,” Rukia said, “Well, it's been sitting there for almost five minutes. It should be cool right now.”

 

Ichigo shook his head and picked up his fork, “Sorry, I just… never mind. How's your marsala?”

 

Rukia took another bite and sighed softly, “Heavenly.” She said after she swallowed, “I don't know how I didn't know about this place beforehand.”

 

Ichigo took a bite of his plate of fettuccini and almost crooned at the buttery taste of each noodle. He swallowed and replied, “Do you scope out all the Italian restaurants you can and make a map?”

 

She nodded, “Something like that. But I've never heard of this place, it has a very homey feel, not to mention the food is delicious.”

 

Ichigo nodded and took a minute to glance around the restaurant he knew so well. The place was a clutter of plants, lights, and terra cotta sculptures reminiscent of famous Italian artists. The air was thick with the heady aromas of sumptuous food and the smell of burning firewood from its place near the corner. All around them large men with rotund bellies and tight suits were laughing merrily with their friends and family. They sat at great tables laden with all types of pasta, meat, and fish, biting and savoring each little morsel they consumed.

 

Ichigo smiled and glanced at the table at which he and Rukia were sitting. It was a small thing, intimate even. There was a cheap but cute red-and-white checked tablecloth covering the tiny surface and between their two plates was a small crystal vase holding a single rose in the center.

 

From where he was sitting, the head of the rose was directly below Rukia's chin and hid a large portion of her creamy neck from his view. He sighed and took another bite of his fettuccini. He couldn't deny that he was hoping she would forget her stubborn resistance tonight and come home with him.

 

But he doubted it.

 

“So,” Rukia said casually, continuing to devour her meal, “I guess I should talk to you, since you are feeding me.”

 

“Perhaps,” he replied, a slight laugh in his voice.

 

“Alright then,” she sighed, “There is something I've wanted to know for a while.”

 

“And that is?”

 

“Why did you become a detective?” She asked, reaching in front of her and taking a sip of her glass of red wine. “I mean, from what I read in your files you received top grades at the university, why did you decide to become a detective?”

 

Ichigo grinned wickedly, “You know, if you wanted to get to know me a lot better, you didn't have to read my file. You would just have to—”

 

“Please,” she interrupted, “Spare me.” She glared at him and sighed, “Let's just try and be civil for tonight, okay?”

 

“Fine, fine, fine,” he took another bite of fettuccini. “Well, I became one because of my dad.”

 

“Really? What did he do?”

 

Ichigo's eyes cast themselves down for a minute before he smiled warmly. For some reason, there was a soft, sorrowful look on his face. “He was a street cop. Best in the bunch. But when my mom died he quit, he said it was too dangerous to be out there when he had three kids at home.”

 

“Wait,” Rukia stopped him by holding up her fork and pointing it at his chest, “You have siblings?”

 

“Yeah,” he continued, “My sisters, Karin and Yuzu, they're twins.”

“Oh,” Rukia put her fork down and continued scraping her plate clean of any remnants of food.

 

“He left the force and became a general practitioner. It took a few more years and most of his pension but soon enough he became one of the most well-liked and well-respected doctors in the area.” Ichigo paused and swallowed his last bite of pasta.

 

“What happened to him?” Rukia asked softly, her voice was calm and quiet—soothing when compared to her usual brash and harsh tone.

 

“One of the guys he once caught on a drug bust more than a decade before came into the clinic one day and killed him. Shot him three times and left.” Ichigo shook his head and put one of his elbows on the table, resting his chin in his hand. His eyes still had that faraway look and Rukia found that she didn't like it at all.

 

“I'm so sorry.” She said lamely. She grasped her glass of red wine and took a deliberate sip. She let the liquid sit on her tongue for a minute before swallowing—reveling in the stinging sensation of alcohol. But really, what else could she say to well… comfort him?

 

This must be how people feel when they talk to me about my brother, she thought grimly. How ironic.

 

“It's okay,” Ichigo said quietly, “It was almost ten years ago.” He shook his head, “But I just thank God every day that I was the one who came home first.” He paused, “My sisters didn't need to see that.”

 

“No one should need to see something like that,” Rukia told him. For a minute, she thought of reaching over the table and taking his hand into hers. She shook the thoughts away and settled for nodding sympathetically.

 

Ichigo shrugged and leaned back in his seat. “It's okay. It was what happened to my dad that made me want to become a cop. I worked so fucking hard to get where I am now. Sometimes I wouldn't sleep for days.”

 

“Did you ever find him?” She asked. “The man who shot your father?”

 

Ichigo nodded. “He's doing two life sentences in solitary confinement.” He shrugged and smirked, “I would have wanted the needle but the jury voted for what he has now.”

 

“Juries…” Rukia snorted softly, “Sometimes you love 'em, sometimes you hate 'em.”

 

“Yeah well… when we catch the guy who killed your brother… I'm going to make sure that Hitsugaya gives him an entire cocktail of needles.”

 

Rukia let out a dark chuckle, “Yeah. I swear, Toushiro is short and young, but he's the best D.A. we've had in a long time.”

 

“I agree. Did you know that he is actually some kind of boy genius? I heard he went to Harvard when he was twelve.” Ichigo told her, a small smile covering half of his face.

 

“God,” Rukia said, taking a sip of her wine. “I just thought he was vertically challenged or something. I never knew he was a boy genius.”

 

“But you'd think he was thirty by the way he acts.” Ichigo shook his head, “I feel really sorry for him, going to college at twelve must have done some permanent damage to his social life.”

 

Rukia nodded and drained the contents of her wine glass. She set it on the table and proceeded to toy with the stem. She and Ichigo lapsed into silence, comforted by the weight of food in their stomachs and—in Rukia's case—the alcohol soothing away the troubled feelings swirling around her head.

 

This is what it's supposed to be, Ichigo thought warmly, just us, sitting together, eating good food, and just talking. He raised his eyes to her face and just sat there a moment, staring at her—to which he was now accustomed to doing. She looked so content and peaceful.

 

Ichigo marveled at the beauty of her face but felt a single, troubling thought pass through his mind. The only thing she wasn't doing, even though he was actually trying quite hard to press one out of her… was smiling.

 

Ichigo frowned a bit and, on what he called a whim, reached up to cup her cheek. Rukia started but didn't move away as Ichigo ran his callused thumb over her pink bottom lip. Christ, how long had it been since he kissed her last? It felt like fucking ages. Damn it if this table wasn't the only thing that was keeping him away from her.

 

He saw her swallow convulsively and scoot her head back just a bit. “Y-You promised,” she said hoarsely, clearing her throat at the last minute, “Remember?”

 

Ichigo didn't move his hand as he blinked slowly and cocked his head to the side, as if contemplating what to do next. “Yes…” he murmured, “I remember.” His thumb, as if it had a mind of its own, ran over her bottom lip this time, feeling some moisture rub against the pad of his finger.

 

“Then… then…” she muttered.

 

“Don't worry,” Ichigo sighed, removing his hand from her face and pressing his thumb against his own lips. “I promise I won't do anything else.” He let out an exasperated breath and groaned, he rubbed a hand over his face and glared slightly at her, “Because I swear to God girl, if you don't start participating… well, I just wouldn't want to rape you is all.”

 

Rukia's eyes widened and the bottom half of her mouth opened slightly. “You what?”

 

“Hey,” he said, raising his hands in defense, “I just said I didn't want to.”

 

“But you would,” she demanded, “You said you didn't want to so that would be your moral objective. Your carnal object would be, in fact, to rape me.”

 

Ichigo chuckled and pulled his wallet from his back pocket. “Honey, I'm sure lots of men think about doing what they will to you.” He pulled out the bills and set them on the table. “Just be happy to know that I'd kill them or put them in prison before they'd even get to touch you.”

 

“Oh, I get it, so I'm yours now, is that it?” Rukia snorted and stood when he did. “Great to know that I'm just a piece of property.”

 

They put on their coats and thanked their waitress as the two exited into the cold night air. Rukia scowled and wound her scarf around her neck as they walked out towards the car. Gingerly, she made sure that her mouth and nose was covered by the bunny-covered contraption. Ichigo almost growled when he saw what she was wearing.

 

I guess I could pull it off, he thought, sighing mentally.

 

“Woman,” he said clearly, his breath puffing out in front of him, “You have a will made of iron.”

 

“Just because I don't want to sleep with you.” She stated dryly. “Let me tell you, Kurosaki, there are other things in this world besides you that can make me act stubborn, it's not just you.”

 

Ichigo rounded to the driver's side of the car and clicked open the door, glaring at his partner. “Didn't you learn your lesson about my name last time?”

 

Rukia glared at him but ignored the comment, she followed Ichigo inside and sat, shivering, on the seat..

 

“My God it's cold,” Rukia said. Her hand reached out and she fiddled with the dashboard knobs, turning them so the heat would come out at full blast.

 

Ichigo snorted as he started the car, “You know, if you'd just listen to me and let me take you back to my place, I doubt if you'd ever feel cold again.”

 

Rukia's face flushed and she muttered, “Just drive me home, Ichigo.”

 

There was silence between them for a moment before Ichigo grinned and shrugged his shoulders as he pulled out of the parking space. “Your place would work too.”

 

“Would you just stop it!” She shouted. “Damn it Ichigo! You just don't get it!”

 

If he didn't have to keep his eyes on the road, Ichigo would have turned his head and glared at her, daring her to tell him what he didn't get. But since he was currently driving on an icy road in the dark he was forced to keep his gaze directly on the sheen of the pavement beneath him.

 

“From what I can tell,” he said darkly, his voice turning from one of playful disagreement to one of deadly certainty. “We are both consenting adults who are exceedingly attracted to one another. From where I'm standing, you're the one who doesn't seem to get it.”

 

“That's just like a guy,” Rukia spat, “Talking with your dick instead of your brain.”

 

“That's just like a woman,” Ichigo countered, “Analyzing your emotions instead of actually feeling them.”

 

“You don't understand,” she said hotly, raising her hands and waving them emphatically to make a point. “There is a line, Ichigo, there's a line that I don't want to cross. There's you and there's me and there's the line. I don't want to go past that line and get into something I won't be able to stop.”

 

“You should realize,” he said growlingly, “That we've already gone past that line.”

 

“Just stop it.”

 

Ichigo turned into a free space in front of her apartment and parked the car. He stayed in his seat, gripping the wheel in anger and frustration. Rukia stayed where she was as well. Her hands were clenched in her lap and her knuckles were white. Neither of them said a word as the car continued to run, spewing warm air onto their already heated bodies. Little drops of sweat pooled onto Rukia upper lip but she ignored them, she simply sat in her seat and twisted her fingers.

 

“I hate you for making me feel like this.” She said quietly, not even bothering to hide the distaste and disgust in her voice. “I hate it so much that all I want to do is this.”

 

Ichigo twisted his head around and glared, angered that she should be so crass as to stop talking to him in the middle of a fucking sentence—stupid, he knew, but this night was just one stupid thing after another and—

 

The moment Ichigo turned his head he felt a small but strong hand grip the skin at the nape of his neck. He barely had time to say something—anything before he felt his mouth being pulled down, hard and fast.

 

And then she was kissing him, Rukia Kuchiki of all people in the world was kissing him. He knew it had to be some kind of mistake because Rukia Kuchiki didn't kiss people. She wasn't the kissing type. Sure he had kissed her before but during each one of those encounters she had never been the one to drag his mouth down to hers and dominate as she was doing now. She had never been the one to initiate a kiss that was so hot and heady that Ichigo felt himself growing drunk just because of it. Rukia Kuchiki did not kiss, she was kissed sure as hell, but she simply did not kiss.

 

So Ichigo simply sat there, both hands still clutching the steering wheel and his mouth frozen in place as Rukia's lips pressed against his. Even his eyes were open, he realized in a sudden spurt of horror, but goddamn it, she wasn't supposed to be doing this!

 

Except… Christ… he could see her face. Her beautiful face that was blushing profusely now, her eyes were closed and her lashes rested softly against the skin above her cheekbones.

 

Her lips were tugging at his, her breath caressing his skin as she pulled his bottom lip into her mouth and sucked lightly. He could feel her tongue as it traced his lip. Her fingers were gripping the back of his neck as if they were holding on for dear life.

 

Holy fuck… she's kissing me. He thought, his brain still not able to process what the hell was going on.

 

Suddenly, he felt the pressure on his neck go slack and the strokes of her tongue lessen. Her fingers had left his neck entirely and her mouth stroked his one last time before they abandoned them completely.

 

Her eyes opened and for the first time since he had become her partner, Ichigo saw the utmost hurt and sting inside of her deep, deep eyes.

 

“You see?” She said softly, her voice raw and rough, “Even then… we…”

 

She didn't get to say another word, because in the next second his hands had left the steering wheel and were grappling for her face. His fingers closed around her cheeks and yanked her to him so hard that her mouth was practically smashed against his. She let out a startled gasp but pulled her mouth open as soon as Ichigo's tongue swept across her closed lips.

 

Instantly, they were melded together. Mouth to mouth they were gasping, groaning, and touching anything that was in reach. Ichigo's hands grasped every inch of her hair that within his range. He was feeling the silken strands as they passed through his fingertips and moaned when her head arched back, giving him more access to her hot, sinning, mouth.

 

Then suddenly, that wasn't the only thing his body was touching. He didn't know what had happened to her, but Rukia was now taking charge of this entire kiss. He couldn't believe it…

 

But he sure as hell was enjoying it.

 

Rukia was now on top of him. She had—by some miracle—swung her legs over the gear-shift situated between them and planted each leg on either side of his hips. Her pelvis was now grinding into him as her hands grasped each side of his face. She was kissing him with such fervor and heat that he wondered if the woman above him really was Rukia Kuchiki.

 

She kept kissing him, pushing her heated center into his stiff-and-growing erection, and running her fingernails down his chest, making his skin stand at attention and practically scream.

 

And then his hands left her face and grasped her hips, when she came down he pulled down—hard. Her mouth ripped from his and she gasped at the intense feeling. Ichigo almost whined at the loss of her mouth but instead turned to her neck and attacked. Rukia didn't stop moving nor did Ichigo stop yanking. Both of them kept going, the car rocking back and forth with their ministrations.

 

Ichigo licked, bit, and sucked her neck. In the back of his mind he realized that he was actually going back on his word by doing all these things to her. It was wonderful and it was hot and it was delicious and it was terrible—all at once.

 

He panted into her neck and groaned, “Fuck, Rukia, I want you so badly.”

 

Ichigo didn't know if it was what he said or the urgency with which he said it or even the way his hands were slowly making their way to the waistline of her jeans, his fingers completely intent on discovering which pair of panties she was wearing, but suddenly, her ministrations to his lower regions slowed, her fingers stopped with their exploration of his painfully-clothed chest, and her mouth stopped making so many breathy mewls.

 

“Rukia…” he said darkly, a solemn warning written over his face. “Don't… don't do this.”

 

“I told you,” she said, her voice a bit breathless but her mind apparently sane. “The line.”

 

Ichigo's grip on her hips became painfully tight. “I don't care about the fucking line.”

 

“I do.”

 

“I don't.”

 

“Ichigo, let me go.” She said softly.

 

“You're making a mistake.” He said, his voice was low and solid as she climbed off of him. He noticed how her eyes lingered on the erection pressing against his pants and if his instinct was to be believed, he saw hunger in every inch over her gaze.

 

She looked up at him and swallowed when she saw the dangerous way his face was shaped.

 

She didn't say another word as she drew in a shuddering breath and opened the car door. The cold wind blasted inside but it did nothing to cool the sweat running down Ichigo's heated body. He watched her as she opened the door to the complex and walked into her apartment. When he saw the light flip on he turned his head and peeled out of the street.

 

Rukia, he thought ruefully, when I get through with you, there will be not even be room for a line.