_debbiechan_ (_debbiechan_) wrote in bleachness,

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Fanfic "Not Floating" NC17 Yuri, Orihime/Rukia

Yuri this time. I don't think it's sexy enough but that just may be the characters. Some Yoruichi yuri would be hotter, I guess.
*marks Yoruichi on to-do list*

Not Floating
by debbiechan

Disclaimer:  I don’t own Bleach or the characters of Inoue Orihime and Kuchiki Rukia.

Warning: NC17 YURI. Sex between teenage anime girls. This story contains mild spoilers for post-Soul Society chapters.  It takes place just before chapter 230 and the day when Orihime is abducted. This story follows my other Rukia and Orihime fic “Not Crying.”

When we are in bed or floating in water is the only time we are out of pain ~ Rose O’Neill (Garda 1929)

The gods bless you
May you sleep then
On some tender
Girl friend’s breast. ~ Sappho (7th century, B.C.E.)

It happened once and only once. After a bath in a forest garden because Rukia hated the elaborate ordeal that was bathing in the Kuchiki home. It happened on the night of a waning crescent moon and after talking about Ichigo. Rukia’s hair was still wet, and she was so tired from the day’s training that she didn’t cover herself before falling asleep.

Rukia thought the hoarse buzz by her ear was coming from an insect. Eyes squinting and full of sleep, she raised her hand to swat the noisy thing and realized that Orihime was lying behind her. Orihime, not the blanket, was keeping Rukia warm.

Orihime’s futon lay unopened in a corner of the room.

The Kuchiki palace was a beautiful but severe place to live. Etiquette Rukia hadn’t grown up with and still wasn’t sure she’d learned. Sand gardens, raked twice daily, that reminded Rukia of the bleakest, driest areas of the Rukongai. So many rooms with nothing happening in them.

Inoue Orihime was supposed to have her own room, but right away Rukia had seized Orihime’s clothes and hairbrushes and pillows and blankets and asked how were they supposed to have giggling conversations late into the night if her new girlfriend was a whole room away?

Orihime continued to snore lightly behind Rukia’s ear.

Rukia was a slight girl and she didn’t take up much room on the futon, but Orihime had somehow managed to dominate the space with her sprawled limbs and long hair. Rukia didn’t want to wake her, but she felt crowded. The only solution was for Rukia to get into Orihime’s futon.

The moment Rukia sat up, Orihime stopped snoring but still held Rukia by the waist.

People didn’t touch Rukia very often.

Her brother, for one, was an impossible wall of a man. Stern and emotionally distant. The only time he had touched Rukia was when, after being stabbed by the blade meant for his adopted sister, he had fallen into her lap.

The district 78 boys had never touched Rukia. If they so much as looked at her funny, Renji beat them up.

Ichigo didn’t touch her.

Rukia lay back down and appreciated the warmth and softness that was Inoue Orihime.


Orihime was waking up, her voice gurgling into Rukia’s ear.

“Rgl? Huh? Kuchiki-san! Did you have a nightmare?” Orihime thought that Rukia was the one who was in the wrong futon.

Orihime’s voice right at Rukia’s ear was annoying, so Rukia turned to face her. “Did you have a nightmare?” Rukia was smiling. The thought of being someone’s comfort object amused her. “Is that why you got in here with me? Scary dream? Or did you get a close look at one of the servants? There’s one so mean-looking that she would scare Zaraki.”

“Oh!” Orihime seemed to remember something. Then she looked a little worried.

Orihime was an odd girl; Rukia didn’t know what to make of her sometimes. “You okay, Inoue?”

“You looked cold so I came over to hug you.” Orihime wrapped one arm around Rukia’s shoulder and pulled her close. “Sorry if that was rude.”

“No, no, that’s fine.” Rukia eyes widened at the vigor of Orihime’s affection. “That was very sweet of you. Thank you, Orihime.” She patted Orihime’s shoulder.

Orihime felt asleep soon after, her arm still around Rukia, and Rukia stayed wide awake--liking and yet not liking being squished against such a nice person.

The window was wide open and that’s why it was so cold. Rukia thought she should get up and close the shutters, but the moonlight was so pretty and the dark indigo paper curtains would kill the moonbeams.

It happened once and only once. The night was chilly and the girls were tired from training all day. Orihime’s hair smelled like the forest because she hadn’t washed it.

Random memories from long ago and last week. Drowsiness and the release from responsibility that Rukia felt out of Shinigami uniform. The pretty moon. Orhime’s pretty sleeping face. Rukia has just closed her eyes when she heard:


Loudly and with spit, Orihime had spoken the name against Rukia’s face.

Rukia laughed, just as loudly. The idea of Orihime dreaming about Ichigo tickled her to no end.

Orihime was awake now. “What’s funny?” A sleepy smile. “What?”

“You were dreaming about Ichigo.” Rukia swallowed her chuckles so as not to offend. “Ichigo, ha.” She snorted one last laugh.

For some reason unknown to Rukia, Orihime’s face turned red. Her face looked scared.

“What was the dream about?” Rukia asked with sudden sympathy. “Was it a nightmare?”

“The Arrancar,” Orihime said. “I dreamed that Kurosaki-kun was walking with them, that he was one of them. He had an ugly mask like a Hollow and a long white robe.”

Rukia frowned. So Orihime sensed the creature inside Ichigo? That would scare anyone, night or day.

“Well, that’s impossible,” Rukia said firmly. “That’s never going to happen.”

Orihime looked needy; she looked sad. Her blue eyes were huge with anxiety. “Oh Kuchiki-san!” Orihime drew Rukia even closer to her, and Rukia coughed from being squished this hard. “You’re so strong. Why can’t I be as strong as you?”

Rukia pushed Orihime away, and because that gesture seemed brusque, she cupped one of Orihime’s cheeks in her palm with intentional gentleness, a gentleness Rukia was not used to expressing. “You are as strong as me. You just don’t believe you are.”

The two girls locked eyes. Rukia saw that Orihime trusted her, wanted to believe what Rukia was saying.

“Don’t worry,” Rukia said. “Even if you don’t believe in yourself now, all your friends are here, believing in you.”


Rukia was being kissed. Kissed all over her face. Tiny kisses, sloppy kisses, earnest crazy Inoue kisses.

Girls do this.

Orihime kissed Rukia’s mouth lightly and went on to kiss her forehead. Her lips lingered there and spoke against that brow, “Oh Kuchiki-san, you’re wonderful.”

Girls kiss one another on the mouth all the time.

Rukia hugged Orihime back. The girl was so sincere that Rukia wanted to cry. Why did Orihime always strike the pit of her heart?

What a sweet person.

Orihime kissed Rukia’s mouth again and this time Rukia opened hers.

What a sweet, sexy person.

Rukia was quite sure that whatever was going on at that moment was not something girls usually did. There was warmth and pressure in the kiss, tongues just touching, breath growing slower.

Then Orihime wrapped her leg around Rukia’s waist. Her knee pressed hard, and her mouth pressed harder.

The intensity of the kiss was something Rukia had only ever associated with men and women. Not that she didn’t know about the existence of women who loved women, she just didn’t think that they kissed this passionately. What did she know about anything, though--she’d never kissed anyone.

Orihime seemed to be following a course as natural and flowing as a forest stream. She broke the kiss with a happy sigh. She kissed Rukia’s cheek, her neck, her ear. Her hands swept over Rukia’s shoulders, over the light cotton kimono that covered her back and breasts.

It seemed a completely odd situation to Rukia, but Orihime said in a whisper, “I feel so close to you. I wish I were you. I wish….”

Rukia tried to decipher what Orihime was talking about and upon failing to understand, found her own small hands on Orihime’s large breasts.

The feel of them made her dizzy and wet.  Rukia initiated another deep kiss. Orihime kissed back. Dizzier. Wetter.

“I didn’t know,” Orihime said, “that being touched this way would feel so nice.”

Rukia had been exposed to enough modern media to know what to do next. She made an attempt at opening Orihime’s kimono. It was wrapped too tight to allow a breast to emerge, so Rukia undid the obi.

Orihime’s breasts were indeed as goddess-like as Rukia anticipated. Luminous in the faint light. Pale-nippled. Pert-nippled. Maybe they were prettier breasts than what all Karakura imagined them to be. “You okay?”  They were round and bright and inviting as candy.

Right away, Rukia took one nipple into her mouth. One hand brushed the other nipple but all Rukia could feel was the marvelousness of what was in her mouth. She suckled--an instinct born in the womb--as if nourishment could be drawn there. It could, she decided, even as she pressed harder with her lips, pushed the areola into the flesh. There was kindness and freedom from pain there. These were the most special breasts in the whole world.

Orihime’s hands kneaded Rukia’s shoulders. “Ohhhhh, that’s nice.” Orihime ran her fingers through Rukia’s hair. “Thank you, Kuchiki-san, thank you.”

Did Inoue know what was happening? It occurred to Rukia that maybe Orihime wasn’t as well-versed in her own cultural erotica as Rukia was. Feeling guilty, she stopped.

“Don’t stop.”

“Inoue, have you done this with anyone before?”

There was a tiny silence before Orihime answered, “I don’t think so.”

How could someone not remember having her breasts sucked?

“Did you do this with Tatsuki? Kiss and touch like this?”

“Oh no,” said Orihime emphatically. “I don’t think Tatsuki wouldn’t like any of this. She’s always bothering Chizuru and calling her a pervert. Tatsuki wouldn’t like this at all.”

Rukia smiled. So Orihime did know what was happening. The girl was so odd that it was hard to read her sometimes.

Fingers at the bottom of Rukia’s skull pressed Rukia’s face forward. No meekness in the gesture.

Orihime is not shy or weak. She’s the sort of person who relishes things. Has there ever been anything she’s not enthusiastic about?

Rukia resumed sucking the same breast. The nipple was stiffer now, a bead of hardness at the center of the softness.

This is what everybody wants. All the boys. Chizuru. Tatsuki, of course. Almost everyone who sees Inoue wants to touch these breasts
. Rukia’s hand closed over the breast not being sucked. They’re just breasts. They’re just parts of a body. Then why do they make me feel like this?

Orihime whimpered like she was in pain but Rukia knew she wasn’t. She lowered her head so that her luxurious hair fell over Rukia’s head and then she threw her head back so that the hair swept across Rukia’s scalp. She lowered her head again. Strands of hair, feathery and ticklish, moved across Rukia’s shoulders in rhythm with Orihime’s pleasure. The girl was rocking side to side, being buoyed by waves of pleasure. 

“Oh, so nice. Ohhhhh.”

Orihime seemed to be enjoying this more than Rukia had ever enjoyed herself. Ever. Was it that wonderful to get your breasts sucked? Orihime’s little noises were making Rukia drenched. Had she ever been this wet before? Would the wetness run down her thigh?


Rukia needed more touch.

Never the coy girl, she undid her own kimono, took Orihime’s wrist and placed her hand over a breast. Orihime’s fingers came to life there. They circled the nipple, petted, kneaded.

Then there was a tumult of softness--cotton sleep kimonos, Orihime’s liquid hair and large breasts--and Rukia found herself on her back being kissed on the mouth again.

And on the neck.

And on the breast.

Rukia froze from the sharp thrill of that last kiss. She was looking forward to further sensations from Orihime’s mouth there, but Orihime kissed the dip between her breasts. Kissed her belly. Kissed the drenched hair over her vulva. Rukia felt her thighs being parted and Orihime was kissing that wet hot center of Rukia’s sexual excitement.

Where did she learn this? Manga?

The piercing stimulation of that first lick was unlike anything Rukia had ever experienced. Then she sighed and thought that she could stay this pleasured for a little while longer.

Orihime took her time.

She had a delicate tongue, and Rukia imagined only Orihime could have such a way of kissing a woman’s clit. Light but generous kisses. No pressure, no sucking, no apparent attempt to induce an orgasm. Just kisses. An occasional lick up towards the wet hair or down towards the wetter folds.

It felt like floating.

Souls traveled from the Living World too quickly, Rukia thought. If only they could be allowed this pleasantness before they washed ashore at Soul Society….

Rukia was a soul, an intact and authentic soul who had felt the weight of clumsy gigai but not her own body for decades. Tonight, under Orihime’s affectionate tongue, Rukia remembered her body.

Because it felt like she was leaving it.

There was no burn, no urgency towards release. The night went on and on. Had it been possible to drift into a light sleep? At one point Rukia thought she was dreaming about running through the dusty streets of the Runkongai, but at the same time she was aware that there was a human person between her legs who was lapping at her most private parts.

Nothing Rukia could ever have done while masturbating could match this tender, prolonged pleasure.

Orihime lifted her head at another point and asked “nice?” Rukia, eyes closed, said “hmm, hmm” in affirmation.

Orhime’s light fingers stroked the inside of Rukia’s thighs. Orihime’s breath had been slow for some time but now it was deep and distressed; Orihime’s throat made hoarse little sighs as she exhaled warm air over Rukia’s sensitive flesh. Rukia thought she heard a hum of pleasure.

She’s being aroused by this.

The concept of fairness in women is strong. Rukia remembered the district 78 boys not caring, not feeling guilt or resentment, if one of them ate all the portions of the orange. Rukia had felt apart from their competitiveness. Even as a child, she’d imagined being their mother, an arbitrator of fairness, the kindness-bringer.

Rukia rose to her elbows.

The sight of the golden orange head added to the dreaminess, to the sexiness, to the intimacy of the act. Rukia said, “Get on top of me so I can lick you at the same time.”

She expected some resistance to this suggestion. It was a weird position, after all, but maybe Orihime read the identical manga that Rukia did or her desire to be licked was that compelling because right away the odd girl complied.

Thighs pressed against Rukia’s shoulders before further words could be spoken. Before that, there had been a brief glimpse of a pretty canopy of hair and breasts, but now there was darkness, wetness, the erotic delight of having a mouth someplace it wasn’t supposed to be.

The wetness under Rukia’s tongue was thick. It tasted and smelled strong. A smoky taste, a salty taste, a fishy taste, a sweet taste. Rukia couldn’t lap the slow way Orihime did--such an intimate banquet required lustful enjoyment. She swept her tongue through the drenched folds and gathered enough of the jelly to feel it slide down her throat as she swallowed.

Rukia put her lips around the clit and sucked.

At that cue, Orihime did the same.

The pleasure was roaring inside Rukia’s head. Every little mmm from Orihime aggravated it. Orgasm threatened. Blood rushed to Rukia’s neck and face. There was no other way to express the pleasure, to let out the intensity, than to suck harder, harder, even harder.

Rukia came first. Her face butted Orihime, and Orihime loved it. “Kuchiki-san,” she said in a gasp and her fingers pinched Rukia’s thighs.

It was a relief to be done but the floating feeling hadn’t gone away. Rukia thought that this was because of the unrealness of the situation, but days later loving Orihime’s body would not seem unreal at all.

Orihime was moving her hips up and down across Rukia’s face, riding shallow wave after shallow wave. She was a loud girl. She groaned in a way that wasn’t Orihime-delicate. She was going to come hard.

When she did, the bucking of her body made it impossible for Rukia to keep sucking. The way Orihime’s thighs clenched Rukia’s face was a little scary.

“Ahhhhhh.” A little wail that died and became a musical sigh.

Then the pressure and shuddering stopped.

Rukia and Orihime stayed in their positions for a while. Rukia fondled Orihime’s large white bottom for a while, appreciated its unblemished beauty. Orihime kissed the insides of Rukia’s thighs.

“You have a beautiful body,” Rukia finally said.

“You have a beautiful soul,” Orihime said.

The sweetness of the moment was honestly too much for Rukia to stand and she wanted to make a funny comment or a crude remark. But she didn’t want to upset Orihime so she allowed the tender moment to linger.

I wish I were you? I wish, I wish...?
For what did Orihime wish? The puzzle lulled Rukia back to sleep, and when it was morning, brightly lit and terribly cold, the girls noticed that they were sleeping toe to head, head to toe.

The occasion called for a kiss, but neither girl initiated one.

“Full day’s training ahead,” Rukia said. “We don’t have much time. Three months.”

Rukia had still been floating until those words and now she was not floating. Arrancar. A war. The accountability of her station. Shinigami work of the highest order.

The girls dressed and trained and later that afternoon Orihime left Soul Society to answer a call of battle. The Arrancar took her, and Rukia did not see Orihime for a very, very long time.

A long enough time for the memory of the night to fade.

It had happened once and only once but it never seemed unreal. Rukia never remembered it as a wrongness or a trespass. But the memory diminished. It hid like a moon covered by shadow. During so many hard days, there was a memory of floating. Life had seemed busy and complicated before, and it still did, but now life was the sensation of not floating.

It was not floating because Orihime was gone.


Tags: not floating, orihime/rukia, yuri
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