Porn inspired by this
And I drew my own picture too here: Not Your Father's Pants
Characters: Ishida and Orihime
Warning: Sex, WAFF
Disclaimer: Kubo Tite created the Bleach world; I’m lost in it and keep stumbling upon secret passageways.
Description: NC17 PWP. This story was written in answer to the first challenge at http://community.livejournal.com/bleach_flashfic/ and was inspired by the cover page of Bleach chapter 234, in which Ishida is wearing a pair of very strange and flashy Quincy trousers.
Warning: Sex stuff, and it’s heterosexual.
For fieryfaerie86. Darling, I TRIED to write another of your asked-for characters but I figured you wouldn’t mind more IshiHime from me.
Push down, pull up. Her hands clenching his rear. His sharp hips pressing where hers dipped. The squashy sound of sex.
“Uryuu, oh Uryuu.”
Ishida’s breath was coming in short huffs, but Orihime’s was deep and sighing.
Sweat dampened Ishida’s collar, and he realized he was still wearing his shirt. Orihime hadn’t bothered to undress him beyond pulling off his pants, and now wet patches of rayon were sticking to his skin. One really should not wear synthetic fabrics while participating in strenuous activity. He was about to pull off the bothersome garment when Orihime pressed her palms against his chest.
“So shiny,” she breathed. She rubbed her thumbs over his rayon-coated nipples.
Ishida decided to leave the shirt on.
The pants that had inspired this session of lovemaking lay crumpled in a pile by Ishida’s apartment door. Everyone had made such a fuss over them at the party, but Ishida had no idea why. The pattern was a bit flashy--that was all. A checker design of dark blue Quincy crosses against velveteen white. People … stared. Ishida held his chin high and crossed his arms. Ladies were admiring, and gentlemen were scoffing. When anticipation of one more stranger approaching him with an alcoholic friendliness and the comment “woah, different pants” felt like it was going to put him over the edge, Ishida had asked his girlfriend if they could leave.
“Oh yes, please, please,” Orihime had squeaked, throwing her arms around his neck.
“But--didn’t you want to stay for karaoke?
“Forget karaoke. I’ve been watching your butt all evening. I want to get you out of those pants!”
So that’s why Orihime had kept asking him to rise from his chair and fetch her cup after cup of punch.
“I reaaaaally want you,” she had said, “and needing to pee only makes it worse. It’s the pants, Uryuu. Those are wonderful sexy pants!”
They were the kind of trousers that would get looked at twice in Tokyo, but here in Karakura, Orihime’s grandmother’s brother’s daughter went to a very staid private college where, apparently, students dressed in monochromes. Ishida’s apartment was on the other side of town, but hirenkyaku got them away from the boring party fast enough.
Orihime hadn’t even kissed him before reaching into his condom drawer and pulling down the pants.
Now here they were, scarcely five minutes into sex without foreplay, and Ishida was wondering what had gotten into her. He was trying to slow things down.
Ishida lowered his torso to kiss her, felt her breasts squish against his chest and her hands sweep over his shoulders. Panting lightly and trying to maintain his control, he slid in and out of her with measured slowness.
Whatever position they ended up in, they always started face to face. Orihime insisted on watching his eyes. “They’re so full of meaning,” she said. “More than any words you ever speak.”
Ishida, too, loved watching Orihime. Her lips alone made a dozen erotic shapes as he worked his fingers across her favorite places.
He was idly rubbing above the spot that connected them, not really addressing the issue of clitoral stimulation when Orihime announced, “I’m coming.”
She always announced this--as if the act itself surprised her every time.
Ishida bit his lip and waited for the swell of reiatsu that Orihime’s orgasm. Sometimes it came in tiny staccato bursts like the hiccups, and sometimes it came long and hard with a drawn-out groan, and other times it came like epilepsy--her head tossed back and her eyes white and her entire body shaking.
“Pull out,” she said.
“I want you deeper.”
She turned over onto her knees and thrust her pale bottom into the air. Ishida had never seen her so turned on before. Her lower body was gyrating.
He placed a palm of either cheek and fondled her softness. Then he traced across the pink puckered place that was her first hole and swept his hand across the wet red loveliness that covered her second. Scissored fingers spread apart the labia--
“Get in already.”
It wasn’t like Orihime to be so bossy.
He thrust inside her, and she came in no time, without any encouragement from fondling fingers. He continued to move, even as she spasmed.
“Yeah,” she said, clutching the sheets. “Oh yeah, this is amazing.”
When she was still, Ishida felt a letting-go that was different from other times he had neared release. Holding onto Orihime’s hips, he accelerated into bliss. The sight of her disheveled hair, her white back, her exhaustion--he could help but growl. “Damn it,” he said. He was going to finish without finesse.
Orihime had always said that her Uryuu came the way he sneezed--politely. Sometimes, though, when he was really “lovesick,” he grunted or yelped.
This time it was going to be a scream. The first wave stiffened him. He squeezed his eyes and tried not to. The second wave released him and he fell forward.
It was not loud, but it was a scream. A sharp cry that rang in the uncluttered room.
“Uryuu, Uryuu, you have a beautiful voice.”
Then he fell next to her, his mouth still open.
In the panting aftermath, as Ishida lay there, it occurred to him that there must have been something else besides thin walls holding him back before. What? His relationship with Orihime was new. He still wasn’t accustomed to calling her by her first name. He knew he wanted to be with her forever, but he didn’t know if he wanted to know how weak she made him.
“That was stupendous,” Orihime said in a bright voice.
“Very intense,” he agreed.
She found the crook of his arm and wrapped him around her. “I love you so much.”
It was nothing short of a miracle that she felt this way about him; sometimes Ishida was so arrogant as to believe he had “won” her love, but most nights he wondered why the epitome of beauty, kindness, and grace was nestled in his unworthy arms.
His mind strained to put their shared experiences into an ordinary timeline. Handicrafts club--a mutual interest in needlework. Soul Society--a common stake in fleeing Shinigami. Aizen’s war—a need to prove their own worth to themselves. At what point had his destiny meshed with hers?
He wanted to address that question, but instead he asked, “What was it about the pants?”
“They’re different,” she said. “From what other people wear to parties. From what you usually wear.”
“I always wear clothes I’ve made myself. Maybe it was the tighter fit,” Ishida suggested.
“No, that wasn’t it.”
“The busy pattern?” Ishida was truly perplexed. “Everyone seemed to notice the busy pattern.”
“I think….” Orihime’s voice always drifted off when she was thinking seriously. Ishida could see her eyes looking into another world and pulling the truth out of fantasies. “I think it’s just the fact that you were with me. Wearing crazy pants. Being yourself and not caring. Being proud of being a Quincy and being proud of me.” Orihime turned her sex-sweaty face to him and smiled. “We’re different, you know. We’re not like other people.”
“I know,” said Ishida. He held her close and whispered that he loved her.
And as they began to kiss, his mind was already working on ideas for even more different pants.