Quincy Wedding Night
Characters: Ishida and Orihime
Warnings: Sex, WAFF
Quincy Wedding Night
Description: Ishida/Orihime NC17 one-shot.
Disclaimer: My daughter owns a Kon plushie I found on Ebay, but Bleach itself belongs to the poetic storyteller Kubo Tite. I’m so captured by all his characters, but especially by Ishida Uryuu, Master of the Sewing Needle, and Inoue Orihime, the ditzy beauty who draws mecha and eats food combinations considered weird even in Japan! ^^
A/N: I have never written a fanfic for an anime/manga still in the process of being created. At this writing, the manga is at chapter 190. For all I know, by the time Kubo-san’s story is told, Ishida may be a Shinigami captain, and this fic will have to be considered A/U. For now, Ishida and Orihime seem an inevitable couple, and I have tried my best to keep them in canon character. I imagined this story taking place three years after the Soul Society arc, but it could conceivably take place earlier.
Warnings: Explicit sexual detail. Yes, herein follows an essentially plot-less story about two very young people having (somewhat) realistic first time sex. Yes, it’s all lemon, but I tried to make it a good lemon, one unique to these two particular characters. I don’t believe this fic is inappropriate for older teenagers, but anyone sensitive to such material should stop reading now.
Also, be warned that this story is pure romantic goo. “Ishihime” is such a sweet pairing, I couldn’t write anything else but the sweetest lemon for them!
“Ishida-kun trained alone…Ishida-kun is amazing.”--Orihime, Bleach manga chapter 11/92
Orihime pulled off her socks and tucked them into her slippers. Her toes felt cool and free in the hotel room air-conditioning. How could her groom have borne the heat all day in his formal Quincy clothes? He still wore his cape and boots. The cape was longer and thicker than his usual one, and it reached to his knees.
Ishida dropped a duffel bag at the foot of the bed. “Orihime, my wife,” he said in his most solemn voice, the one that could make the simplest phrases sound like official pronouncements. “The Quincy look suits you.”
Wedding guests had been telling her that all day. The spare Asian sheath accented Orihime’s abundant curves better than a fluffier bridal fashion would have, and everyone at the party had complimented the groom’s handiwork on the elegant gown almost as much as they had admired the bride’s own fresh beauty.
“Thank you for my beautiful dress, my husband,” said Orihime, beaming. “I never want to take it off!” Her hand flew to her mouth. “Oops! I mean--of course I want to take it off! I mean--the party was so wonderful that I wanted it to go on forever, but of course I wanted to come here to be alone with you eventually--”
His deep blue eyes hushed her with just one look. “I understand,” he said. “Don’t apologize for enjoying your own wedding celebration.”
The remark reminded her why she felt more at ease with him than anyone else. He never laughed when she launched into “Hime-speak,” and one of his many talents was that he could make sense of her babblings.
“I missed you at the party,” she said softly. “I loved laughing with everyone, but I was always turning around looking for you.”
Ishida himself had merely endured the celebrating. The brief ceremony had filled him with a sense of pride and importance, but the twittery guests at the reception had annoyed him--all the toasts, drunken congratulations and one too many jokes about how on earth did the geeky recluse catch the prettiest girl in school!
He looked down at Orihime and wondered that himself.
“You’re not frightened, are you, Orihime?”
“Not at all.”
She looked relaxed but hardly exuberant with anticipation; she was sitting on the edge of the bed as if happily waiting for the ice cream course in a kaiseki ryori.
The Quincy Archer who had battled Hollows, however, felt himself pale as he weighed the significance of the task before him.
It had been his idea to forego intimacies until the wedding night. Maybe the concept was conservative in this age, but his Quincy pride demanded nothing less. He wanted their first time to be legal, consecrated, and sanctioned by the whole Karakura community. What he had not figured upon was the wedding day being so busy, peopled, and exhausting. Would Orihime prefer to take a nap before--?
Before that thought could begin to distress him, another cut him like a Shinigami sword: What if her fairies appear? The thought of all those pairs of tiny eyes watching his first sexual encounter--!
Ishida reached for the snowflake-shaped barrettes in his bride’s hair. “Maybe I should take these off first, Orihime.” He hesitated to touch them--they were her magic things, more personal, perhaps, than the parts of her body he wanted to touch.
She seemed to understand. She reached to unfasten the tiny snaps herself, and her hands brushed his. It was the first time since the handholding part of the wedding ceremony that the couple had experienced any physical contact.
They stood like that a moment--his hands on either side of her head, her fingers working to free the snowflakes from her orange hair.
“Uryuu,” she whispered. “Are you trembling?”
His brow knotted. “Yes, I am nervous, but not so much that I can not manage to undress you.” His voice was determined, as if he were about to step into battle. “A Quincy is prepared for his duties on his wedding night. I have read many books.”
She giggled, disarming his composure utterly. His hands dropped away from her, but she took them back into her own, giving him the barrettes. “Put these somewhere safe,” she commanded with mock seriousness. “I put all my power in your Quincy hands.”
He looked around the tiny hotel room. The only furniture besides the bed and two straight-back chairs was the bureau. As he pulled out the top drawer, the lightness of it surprised him. Surely, he thought, I have opened an empty drawer before in my lifetime. He placed the barrettes in its deep emptiness and then took off his glasses and placed them there also. “Perhaps we should unpack first,” he said.
With Ishida’s back to her, Orihime tried to compose her face to match her groom’s solemnity. It might be insulting to him to giggle much more. “Uryuu,” she said with as impassive an expression as she could muster. “I’m ready now.”
He met her eyes in the bureau mirror.
“Your glasses are gone!” The phrase bubbled out in a delighted voice, despite her best efforts to stay serious. “You look so handsome without your glasses! I mean--I love your glasses but--” Orihime caught herself before she took off babbling again, and her next words were spoken with playful encouragement: “Why don’t you take your clothes off too?”
The somber Ishida in the mirror seemed to brighten a little at the suggestion. “Your enthusiasm becomes you,” he said. “Even more than the gown does.” His voice was more boyish than Quincy-ish now. “Perhaps … you should undress yourself as well?”
Orihime smiled. “Oh yes, yes, that will be the easiest way.” Her hand reached for the three hooks on the left shoulder of her dress. “I will meet you in this bed, ne?”
The bride noted right away that it was going to take longer for the groom to rid himself of his Quincy accoutrements than for her to shed her simple shift. First, Ishida had to unfasten the gold loop at the collar of his very long cape. Then there was the long-sleeved tunic and the strange white boots with the blue Quincy cross.
He avoided her eyes as he undressed--removing each item and putting it away in the bureau with unhurried, efficient grace.
Uryuu is a phenomenon. He is so tidy!
Orihime unhooked her own fasteners and caught the fabric as it began to slip past her shoulders. She pressed the loosened dress to her bosom, wondering if she should drop her clothes before her groom was finished putting his own away. She wore no bra or slip or panties, but there had been no erotic motive in foregoing lingerie; it had been such a warm day when she started to dress earlier that afternoon, and the fabric Uryuu used to make her dress was so heavy.
She remembered how proud he had been when purchasing the silk--had he called it shantung? He had explained that the yarn was reeled from two nestled-together cocoons and woven into an iridescent silk fit for a queen. All Orihime understood was that no other bride in the world was so fortunate as to have her betrothed design and sew a wedding dress for her. The day that he had wrapped the tape around her figure to loosely gauge her measurements she had … felt the most urgent longing for him.
She felt it again--a longing that started in her belly and made her face burn. Her new husband was removing his boots now, and she was marveling at the musculature of his shoulders as he bent over. She had always imagined that without clothes he would look something like a smooth candle. He was so tall and slender, but apparently archery made for strong arms.
I want you….
The rustling of the shantung falling to the floor made Ishida look up.
Had he not been to Soul Society and back, he would have said that gazing upon his nude bride’s body was like dying and going to heaven--but he knew that heaven was not so beautiful as his Orihime.
His fuzzy eyesight only added to etherealness of the vision before him.
“Gah!” she exclaimed. “I can’t just leave this pretty dress on the floor!” She bent over to gather the wedding dress in her arms and seemed so un-selfconscious about her nakedness. “Look at what ripples it makes when its not hanging in a closet--it’s like a shiny white puddle of loveliness!”
He was before her in a flash, catching her by the shoulders. “Leave it,” he said, and he kissed her.
Shantung silk poured against his chest. Then something even softer than the silk moved against his body.
“Orihime,” he said with his lips against hers.
Most of the kisses they had shared before had been chaste, so the feeling of her mouth opening against his was still new enough to burn him to the center of his being. There was pure, blinding heat and a tangle of arms. He was dimly aware of lifting her to the bed, feeling swathed in long orange waves of hair and pressed by clouds of flesh.
He had prepared for this night. He had gone over it in his imagination with the same deliberation and devotion he had given to training towards rasoutengai. He wanted to take his time, to savor all parts of her one by one, but he felt like he was in a crisis of pure need. Passion! He had always considered passion a weakness, a demonstration of brutes, a defect of the un-evolved. He was Ishida--he was Mr. Cool!
Mr. Cool was going to explode in his pants any second.
He had removed all his clothing except for his white trousers, so when he felt Orihime’s warm fingers tug at his waistband, he knew he needed to slow things down.
“Wait!” he breathed.
“For what?” asked Orihime in all innocence. She slipped her hand down so it rested against his groin, only worsening the situation.
“I--I--” Think fast, Ishida.
She was starting to rub her hand there! On purpose!
“Stop!” he blurted out. “I have to be the one who makes love to you first!”
“Sa no no no, Uryuu,” purred Orihime in a voice that was not quite so innocent this time. “I’ve read some books myself!” Her hand was starting to accelerate against his hardness. “I know all the science about it, and I’ve read many many manga about this sort of thing!”
“Please stop.” Ishida could not bear the sweetness of her eyes, so he looked down--only to be confronted with two pink nipples staring even more provocatively at him.
It almost took summoning the power of rasoutengai itself to place his hand on hers. Then he moved Orihime’s fingers away as gently as he could.
Orihime was confused.
Was it possible that she had done something irrevocably stupid and wrong on her wedding night?
Yes, she knew she a ditz but she was really no dummy. She had placed in the top five of her class after final exams every year. She was quite sure that she was remembering everything from How to Make Love to A Man perfectly. Then again, no one--except Ishida Uryuu of course--could remember every detail from every book perfectly. Maybe she had pressed the wrong spot (her eyes began to sting at the horror of the thought!) and injured him in some way?
“Please don’t look like that,” he said. He was still holding her hand in his. He took it to his mouth and kissed it lightly. “If you do anything so fabulous to me again, please let it be after I make love to you first. When you touched me I thought I was going to die from the ecstasy of it, so please please let me live long enough to pleasure you first?”
And the words were so right that she smiled ear to ear.
“I love you, Ishida Uryuu.”
“And I,” he said, running his long cool fingers down the length of her torso, “will spend the rest of my days trying to prove myself worthy of that love, my Orihime.”
Tatsuki would laugh at such words, so it made Orihime glad that she would never have to tell them to her best friend. It was good to have this sort of never-to-be-shared moment with her new husband.
Still relishing the sweetness of what Uryuu had just said to her, Orihime did not absorb the sweetness of what he was doing with his hands until she felt one of his sweeping caresses reach between her legs.
And then she felt such a shock of pleasure that she let out a tiny squeal.
His long fingers were calloused--of course they would be! The sewing needles, the stringing of bow and arrow! They were the fingers of a deliberating artisan, and they were testing her most sensitive places.
I am forever going to be spoiled by this!
It was thrilling enough to be feeling his hand there, but what surprised Orihime more was that not even she had learned to touch herself so expertly. He was sweeping his palm here and stirring his fingertips there. He was rubbing this and petting that. The sweeter the action, the more she rewarded him with little hums of appreciation, and then he would repeat the action--not for long, though, because he was always trying something new.
And so it went, until Orihime was lulled into a feeling of floating. She closed her eyes, and that’s when she felt him sigh against her throat and move his face down her body. The next thing she knew he was sucking at her breast, and the pleasure was so impossibly intense that she had to gasp for air.
His forefinger, meanwhile, was whirring against her with the most marvelous speed!
Ishida had been trying not to indulge in his bride’s little sounds; he had been using them as a guide to pleasuring her, but he still felt so on the edge of losing control that he was trying to think of anything but the squirming, cooing, naked woman under him. Scary Ganjyu in his mummy bandages in the Soul Society infirmary? The closing credits of the Don Kanonji Show?
Of course when Orihime began to gasp, he was jolted into a state of erotic overload.
And when she started to shake beneath him, he thought he was going to faint.
She didn’t spasm for very long, however, and when she melted away from him, he felt a strange plateau in his sexual crisis. He looked at her, without urgency, amazed that he, Ishida Uryuu, had been responsible for a woman’s orgasm.
Ishida kissed her forehead and felt for his trouser pocket, pulling out a handful of foil squares. He then slid out of his pants legs.
He had planned this part. He was not going to give her any word of warning--any anticipation might only cause her to stiffen and make the pain worse. She was still so limp and serene that now was the perfect time.
It was the only time he would use his Quincy senses to feel for her reiatsu. All of her life energy was concentrated in one place at this moment. He knew, as plainly as he saw her smiling face before him, where her virgin center was. He slipped on a condom as Orihime was still lying, eyes closed, recovering from her climax, and then he lifted one of her smooth thighs and speared her with one clean, accurate thrust of his lower body.
It was not a loud scream and it was not an agonized scream, but it broke his heart. His arms were instantly around her. His mouth was in her hair. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I thought it would be less painful if I did it this way. Forgive me, Orihime, please….”
“What?” She didn’t sound hurt or upset at all.
“Orihime,” Ishida’s own voice sobbed. “I didn’t want to hurt you!”
“I’m fine!” Her voice sounded shockingly ordinary--as if she were on the phone with her grandmother. “I’ve had slaps on the back from Tatsuki that hurt more! Really, Uryuu, I know what just happened, and I can’t believe it’s over already!”
He raised himself on his elbows to look at her. She was pink-cheeked and startled-looking but she didn’t seem to be in any pain.
She even smiled at him. “It’s OK, you can move now. Move a little bit, and I’ll see how it feels.”
He did as he was told. His eyelids were still fluttering from bewilderment, and his hands were gripping her shoulders. He would stop if she asked him to. He would do anything she asked him to.
Orihime chewed her bottom lip and looked at the ceiling. “Hmmm, not bad,” she said. “Keep doing it.”
He didn’t need to be told twice. He moved with a little more force, trying to set a pace, but his efforts were strained, and he needed to stop every few thrusts to stave off finishing too soon.
Orihime was looking at him now, not the ceiling, but he could tell that she wasn’t in the same erotic dimension that he was. She looked alert--intent on his face--but her breathing was normal.
He tried kissing her but he couldn’t even stay pressed against her mouth for long. It was too hard to breathe. It was too hard to do anything else but ride the movements of his lower body.
And then Ishida lost himself to an inescapable rhythm; as his need escalated, so did the pleasure and so, surprisingly, did his endurance.
He could not have imagined how such a simple thrill would keep getting sharper. The first time he had fallen in battle, the pain had been worse than expected--but Abarai Renji’s sword had cut once, and that was that.
Odd that I should remember that night now. Lying in a puddle of blood on the street, trying to control his breathing, trying to betray no sign of agony.
He could bear the pain then; he could bear the pleasure now.
Get a grip, Ishida.
He threw back his head and squeezed his eyes shut.
God, God, God.
Not looking at her did not distance him. He was even more aware of the woman in his arms. He gasped once, twice, felt about to release--until two moist hands on either side of his face somehow pressed back the inevitable.
He opened his eyes.
Orihime was crying. Two fat tears rolled down her pink cheeks. Ishida must have looked as baffled as he felt, because she immediately reassured him: “No, no, it doesn’t hurt. I’m fine, fine--”
He was aware of having stopped thrusting. His mouth was open, his heart in his throat.
“It’s just that--” She smiled a little and blinked her enormous gray-brown eyes. “It’s just that you are so beautiful, Uryuu, and I love you so much.”
Her thumb stroked his jaw, and was that her? Her hips were moving against his, urging him to continue.
“Oh--” he breathed. “Oh--oh--Orihime.”
He managed to move again but not for long. On the upswing of a thrust, the pleasure seized him and his fingers opened. He wanted to say her name again, but there was no sound. He came with her cupping his face and looking into his eyes.
Who could bear the expression in her eyes? He was undeserving of it. He threw his face against her neck and felt his pulse roaring against her softness. No matter how many times he had saved her life, she had saved him from his loneliness. He owed her more joy than what he had attempted to give her.
“You didn’t--” He was not breathing regularly yet but felt compelled to speak. “You didn’t climax again? I will do better next time. I was too fast.”
She was petting his forehead, pushing hair away. “You are such a perfectionist.” Her voice was mild and amused. “Did the valedictorian of Karakura High not say that he had read all the books? The books say it’s normal for a girl not to--”
He raised his head and looked into her kind eyes.
“Don’t worry about it, Uryuu. This is the most wonderful first time any bride could wish for. I am so happy!”
He lay his cheek against her neck again and believed her. The books also said that it was important to listen to what the woman said. In his own bed, after sex with himself, this was the part where he fell asleep. He was too excited to even feel drowsy now.
“It will be even better next time,” Ishida said. He felt his lips form a smile against her shoulder, and he kissed her lightly there. “Anyway, we have lots of time to practice.”
The full meaning of his words did not reach Orihime. She had closed her eyes and was already drifting off to the rhythm of her own palms smoothing across her young husband’s back. She found it strange that his body lying against hers was already so familiar and comforting.
And the smell of him reminded her of white miso soup.
“Ishida-kun,” she said dreamily, not realizing that she had called her husband by his boyhood name. “I am so hungry. I didn’t get to eat anything at the wedding. It seems I always had a glass of wine in one hand and a plate of food in the other, but people were congratulating me and hugging me and kissing me and I was always talking and talking and I never got a chance to eat one bite or drink one--”
“Sssh! Inoue-san!” His finger was on her lips and a smile was in his eyes. “This is a hotel. We can order whatever you want.”
“Whatever I want?” Orihime shook her head. She doubted that room service carried the sort of things she liked to eat: caramelized leeks with bananas, potatoes with red bean jelly and sticks and sticks of butter.
Uryuu was still looking at her expectantly. His long blue-black hair draped over one eye, and his cheeks were unusually colorful. Had she ever seen him look so relaxed before?
She knew, with a deep contentedness in her soul, that she already had everything she wanted.
Domo arigato to beta-reader LisaB for beta-ing outside her fandom.
The term “Himi-speak” was first used by fanfic writer Buffybot76 in her story “Interlude,” found at http://www.fanfiction.net/s/2398956/1/ (This story is the only good Ishihime romance around! Please, Ishihime shippers--write more!)
Shinigami means “death god”; I’ve also seen the word translated as “death” and “soul reaper”
Kaiseki ryori is a nine-course Japanese meal eaten on special occasions
Rasoutengai means “heavenly strings”--it was the Quincy technique used to keep lift broken or injured arms and keep shooting arrows in battle unto death
Reiatsu means “spirit power”
Fanarts I drew for this story:
Quincy Bride Quincy Wedding Night
And check out my very first Bleach drawing. i hadn't learned to draw Ishida's chin yet and I got his glasses wrong: Me Glomping Ishida