Pairing: Ichigo x Rukia
Rating: T [some mentally mature concepts]
“What do you think?” Rukia asked, twirling and exposing the milky planes of her back. Red chiffon and lace kissed her shoulder blades.
“It’s very…red,” Ichigo admitted, his eyes darting back to the textbook in his lap, trying to not think of how darling she looked in the dress.
“Ishida made it for me,” she smiled, turning and looking over her shoulder at the mirror. Her white-stocking clad feet curled and drew figure eights as she posed and pouted at her reflection. Seeing as how her attention was diverted, Ichigo looked up to watch her.
The young man swallowed nervously in an attempt to quell the sparks in his blood. His fingers curled into his palms of his own accord. When had he started feeling this way? Was it when he had seen her determined composure when she was rifling through his textbooks? That oddly endearing scowl as she tried to understand chemical nomenclature and Dalton? He had had to turn away; something about reading too many shoujo mangas. Or maybe it was when he had seen her smile last Monday. No-one could blame him—her ice princess composure had broken quite prettily. She had captivated everyone around her with that one small, shy smile. Shy—it was a feeling she didn’t seem capable of feeling. He must have not been thinking right; Mondays had a tendency to do that to people. A light fragrance washed over him. It was decidedly nice and what purple should smell like.
“Are you okay, Ichigo?”
He opened his eyes abruptly, not realizing he had closed them. He blinked furiously at Rukia, with her head tilted in curiosity.
Ichigo felt his face flush; he narrowed his eyes and stared down at the textbook.
“I’m fine! Why’d ya ask?”
She immediately withdrew. Her eyes, which had been doe-like and gentle, flared with annoyance and hardened. Lilac cognac.
“I was going to ask why you were grinning to yourself like an idiot, but fine! Forget it.”
A wave of panic rose in Ichigo. He didn’t want her to get mad and leave—not now. Not when he wanted her like this; innocent and oh so pretty.
“I wasn’t thinking about anyo—anything!” he snapped quickly, his face reddening by the moment. Rukia snorted and turned her back to him, gathering her hair into a ribbon the color of seashells. “That’s true, I always knew you weren’t capable of using your brain.”
Ichigo scowled at her, a scalding reprimand on the tip of his tongue. He settled for staying silent. He crossed his legs, propped an elbow up and leaned his chin in the cupped palm. He could feel the heat along his cheekbones. Damn those teenage hormones.
He skimmed over a paragraph. Something about cyanide. The text blurred in his amber gaze. Nothing was focused. He couldn’t focus. His veins were buzzing. He grunted in frustration, finally giving into temptation and looking up to see Rukia carefully lining her eyes in 70’s film noir black.
Her hair had been pulled into a loose chignon, wisps of starless hair falling to trail like ink on her neck. Ichigo closed his eyes. Pressing his fingers to his temples. She was too much. Her presence was too big for this small town. She carried with her the composure of a goddess; elegant even in dishabille. Pearls in her hair and necklaces weeping diamonds. Most certainly not scratchy cotton skirts and stiff, white blouses and a red necktie that choked her Mondays through Fridays. She serenaded the stars, and they serenaded her back. She was a never-ending song, and he listened, afraid of the ending, scared of silence. She was overwhelming, omnipresent, and he was a fool to not let himself get dragged under. But there was a line that divided them. His world and her world. Cliches clichés clichés. When did they end?
He uncrossed his legs, crossed the room to her. She watched him approach in the mirror, sapphire eyes trained carefully on his face. What would it take for that line to be broken? His right hand rose uncertainly, settling at her waist. She did not move away. He was testing the waters. His breathing grew unsteady. What would he do if…
Wavering, he let his other hand settle along her waist, smoothing out her pure red dress. Ichigo was drowning in her scent. She was so close—so intoxicating. All uncertainty vanished from his mind. He knew in that instant that he wanted her. Not in the sense of just having sex with her. He meant it in every, sincere, innocent meaning of the word. He wanted her smile solely for himself. He wanted her adoration, to feel those piercing and entrancing eyes on him. Most of all, he just wanted to wake up next to her every morning. To protect her, even in her sleep. She didn’t want his protection, didn’t need it; but something in her spoke of fragility and insecurity.
His grip tightened, and he pulled her to him. She came without resistance. Her petite frame remained tense and guarded. He settled his chin on her shoulder, reveling in the way she trembled slightly from his contact. “You look beautiful,” he confessed, bringing his arms around her, wrapping himself completely around her. He felt her guard loosen; felt her lean into him the way he desperately wanted her to.
“What are you doing,” she sighed, bringing her head to rest against Ichigo’s cheek.
“Loving you,” he murmured. She smiled at their reflection in the mirror.
A/N My first fanfic for this couple, which I have loved for over a year. Comments? Critique? I know it was plot-less and direction-less, but hey, cut me some slack. I'm just starting out with this fanfic writing venture. :)