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(I'm So Sick)
folder
Bleach › Het - Male/Female
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
2
Views:
11,124
Reviews:
12
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Bleach › Het - Male/Female
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
2
Views:
11,124
Reviews:
12
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
Disclaimer: I do not own Bleach, and I did not make any money from these writings.
my favorite plum - Gin x Orihime
A/N: For rowenstar. xD i'm not doing these in any particular order (although this was the first request), but i decided to do this one because it is definitely a crack pairing, and i enjoy a challenge.
keep those requests comin'! nothing is too weird for me!
--
The door to her quarters creaks gently open, illuminating a square at Orihime’s feet, and for once it is not Ulquiorra who enters.
Orihime eyes the smiling visage of Ichimaru Gin warily from her position on the pristine white couch, situated at the very center of the room. The tall slender man is pushing a silver trolley cart ahead of him, adorned with a covered platter. The cart’s tires squeak loudly in the open expanse of the room.
“I’ve brought you a treat,” says the silver-haired man genially, bringing the cart over to where Orihime sits, hands twisting in her lap anxiously. He hooks one of his long, spindly fingers underneath the polished surface of the platter’s cover, pulling it away with dramatic flourish. Beneath it is an enormous pile of strawberry halves, their ends dipped in swirled chocolate.
“I see.”
“Go on, eat!” Gin encourages, waving her on with both hands. “You must be hungry.”
“Actually… not really,” Orihime says hesitantly. Gin lifts one silver eyebrow skeptically as her stomach emits a betraying rumble.
“I’d say your tummy disagrees,” Gin says, shaking his head slowly at the look of trepidation that Orihime wears. “What, do you think we’ve tampered with them?” He asks finally, voice rising as though frankly taken aback by such a silent accusation. “Come now, I’ll eat one myself and prove to you that I haven’t poisoned them. Pick one of the strawberries – any one of them – and I promise I’ll eat it.”
Orihime bites her lip as she considers his offer. She is awfully hungry. “That one,” she says, pointing to one just left of the middle.
“…Ah, I meant, I’d eat any one other than that one. Pick again, please.” At the horrified look on the ginger-haired woman’s face, Gin laughs. “I’m just kidding, Inoue-san.” He plucks the indicated strawberry out of the pile and pops it obligingly into his mouth.
Seconds pass as Gin chews, slowly and deliberately. “See?” He asks, after he’s swallowed. “Do you feel better now, upon realizing that I haven’t, in fact, dropped dead? We both know that the last decent meal was yesterday night. You must be positively famished.”
Orihime doesn’t respond; instead, she tentatively leans forward to take a handful of strawberries in one hand. One by one, they gradually disappear into her mouth. Gin watches her all the while, smiling in such a way that makes her feel vaguely uneasy.
“There, there,” he coos gently, apparently deeply satisfied “That wasn’t so bad now, wasn’t it?”
Orihime shakes her head silently, her mouth full. Gin’s eyes, mere slits as always, remains trained upon her face intently, as if somehow entranced by such behavior. “You’ve got a smear of chocolate on your face,” he says absently, and before Orihime can react, his fingers are tracing the very corners of her mouth, gathering what’s there on the tip of one pale digit. She watches he retracts his hand, not to wipe the chocolate away, but rather to suck it off.
“You know, Inoue-san,” Gin says conversationally, as Orihime stares nervously on. “Chocolate and strawberries are very well and good, but I’m a fan of more eccentric tastes myself. I like tangy things, pickled things; things were interesting – exotic flavors.”
She only figures out where this is all going when it’s too late. Orihime falls onto her back as Gin’s weight is added to her, the silver-haired man pinning her easily to the couch.
“There’s no need to be frightened,” he says, voice dropping low to a conspiratorial whisper, as though there are people listening in on their conversation. And maybe they are – maybe Ulquiorra is regarding the scene from some unknown vantage point, lashes lowered in disapproval; maybe Aizen is with him, hiding a simper behind one large hand. Orihime doesn’t know.
Despite his assurances to the contrary, Orihime can’t help but be afraid. The fastenings to her bottoms are undone with deft, experienced fingers; Gin hooks one arm around her waist to pull Orihime’s butt up as he yanks the hakama and her underwear down completely.
“I just want a taste,” Gin says, and for the first time, Orihime can see those dark and imposing pupils, silhouetted by an iris of black. They disappear as Gin lowers his head to drink from the juncture between her thighs.
Gin’s tongue, like the rest of him, is long and slender and – as Orihime is quick to discover – alarmingly talented. It tends to her slit, which is quickly becoming wet due to a combination of saliva and her own growing arousal. He takes to the whole task like one would to an ice cream cone – with lengthy, exuberant licks. And apparently, that’s the way to do it, because it isn’t long before Orihime’s hands are lashing out, trying desperately to find purchase on something before settling on Gin’s pale hair. She yanks them back like reins, and Gin makes a noise akin to a throaty purr, creating vibrations at the heart of her excitement. It’s not long before Orihime is sent spiraling over the edge.
Her entire body seizes up, her hips lifting off of the white cushion beneath her, pressing urgently into Gin’s face. He uses his hands to balance her, continuing to lave at her until the shockwaves of her orgasm subside and the stimulation becomes too much for her to bear.
“There,” he says, with the air of someone who has just accomplished something greatly satisfying. He wipes the glistening wetness that has accumulated on his face with the back of his arm before considering it in the light. He smiles leeringly at Orihime’s prone form, his gaze lingering in particular on her heaving breasts and exposed V.
“That was, in a word: delicious.”
keep those requests comin'! nothing is too weird for me!
--
The door to her quarters creaks gently open, illuminating a square at Orihime’s feet, and for once it is not Ulquiorra who enters.
Orihime eyes the smiling visage of Ichimaru Gin warily from her position on the pristine white couch, situated at the very center of the room. The tall slender man is pushing a silver trolley cart ahead of him, adorned with a covered platter. The cart’s tires squeak loudly in the open expanse of the room.
“I’ve brought you a treat,” says the silver-haired man genially, bringing the cart over to where Orihime sits, hands twisting in her lap anxiously. He hooks one of his long, spindly fingers underneath the polished surface of the platter’s cover, pulling it away with dramatic flourish. Beneath it is an enormous pile of strawberry halves, their ends dipped in swirled chocolate.
“I see.”
“Go on, eat!” Gin encourages, waving her on with both hands. “You must be hungry.”
“Actually… not really,” Orihime says hesitantly. Gin lifts one silver eyebrow skeptically as her stomach emits a betraying rumble.
“I’d say your tummy disagrees,” Gin says, shaking his head slowly at the look of trepidation that Orihime wears. “What, do you think we’ve tampered with them?” He asks finally, voice rising as though frankly taken aback by such a silent accusation. “Come now, I’ll eat one myself and prove to you that I haven’t poisoned them. Pick one of the strawberries – any one of them – and I promise I’ll eat it.”
Orihime bites her lip as she considers his offer. She is awfully hungry. “That one,” she says, pointing to one just left of the middle.
“…Ah, I meant, I’d eat any one other than that one. Pick again, please.” At the horrified look on the ginger-haired woman’s face, Gin laughs. “I’m just kidding, Inoue-san.” He plucks the indicated strawberry out of the pile and pops it obligingly into his mouth.
Seconds pass as Gin chews, slowly and deliberately. “See?” He asks, after he’s swallowed. “Do you feel better now, upon realizing that I haven’t, in fact, dropped dead? We both know that the last decent meal was yesterday night. You must be positively famished.”
Orihime doesn’t respond; instead, she tentatively leans forward to take a handful of strawberries in one hand. One by one, they gradually disappear into her mouth. Gin watches her all the while, smiling in such a way that makes her feel vaguely uneasy.
“There, there,” he coos gently, apparently deeply satisfied “That wasn’t so bad now, wasn’t it?”
Orihime shakes her head silently, her mouth full. Gin’s eyes, mere slits as always, remains trained upon her face intently, as if somehow entranced by such behavior. “You’ve got a smear of chocolate on your face,” he says absently, and before Orihime can react, his fingers are tracing the very corners of her mouth, gathering what’s there on the tip of one pale digit. She watches he retracts his hand, not to wipe the chocolate away, but rather to suck it off.
“You know, Inoue-san,” Gin says conversationally, as Orihime stares nervously on. “Chocolate and strawberries are very well and good, but I’m a fan of more eccentric tastes myself. I like tangy things, pickled things; things were interesting – exotic flavors.”
She only figures out where this is all going when it’s too late. Orihime falls onto her back as Gin’s weight is added to her, the silver-haired man pinning her easily to the couch.
“There’s no need to be frightened,” he says, voice dropping low to a conspiratorial whisper, as though there are people listening in on their conversation. And maybe they are – maybe Ulquiorra is regarding the scene from some unknown vantage point, lashes lowered in disapproval; maybe Aizen is with him, hiding a simper behind one large hand. Orihime doesn’t know.
Despite his assurances to the contrary, Orihime can’t help but be afraid. The fastenings to her bottoms are undone with deft, experienced fingers; Gin hooks one arm around her waist to pull Orihime’s butt up as he yanks the hakama and her underwear down completely.
“I just want a taste,” Gin says, and for the first time, Orihime can see those dark and imposing pupils, silhouetted by an iris of black. They disappear as Gin lowers his head to drink from the juncture between her thighs.
Gin’s tongue, like the rest of him, is long and slender and – as Orihime is quick to discover – alarmingly talented. It tends to her slit, which is quickly becoming wet due to a combination of saliva and her own growing arousal. He takes to the whole task like one would to an ice cream cone – with lengthy, exuberant licks. And apparently, that’s the way to do it, because it isn’t long before Orihime’s hands are lashing out, trying desperately to find purchase on something before settling on Gin’s pale hair. She yanks them back like reins, and Gin makes a noise akin to a throaty purr, creating vibrations at the heart of her excitement. It’s not long before Orihime is sent spiraling over the edge.
Her entire body seizes up, her hips lifting off of the white cushion beneath her, pressing urgently into Gin’s face. He uses his hands to balance her, continuing to lave at her until the shockwaves of her orgasm subside and the stimulation becomes too much for her to bear.
“There,” he says, with the air of someone who has just accomplished something greatly satisfying. He wipes the glistening wetness that has accumulated on his face with the back of his arm before considering it in the light. He smiles leeringly at Orihime’s prone form, his gaze lingering in particular on her heaving breasts and exposed V.
“That was, in a word: delicious.”