Warmth

Her feet didn't touch the floor when she dangled them off the edge of her bed. Orihime didn't mind so much; the floor - like everything else in this whitewashed world - was freezing, even through her tabi and zori.

Gingerly she touched her cheekbones, feeling the contrast between the healthy springy skin on the right side and the thick squishiness of the blossoming bruise on her left. Probing gently, she rejected the idea of healing herself, even though she was fully capable. There was just something so demeaning about healing your own face, she thought, and why bother if he would just do it again the next time she saw him.

Ulquiorra didn't say anything, didn't even touch her or ask to see if she was OK - just left the tray of food and stalked silently out the door, leaving her curled up on the floor.

Somehow he knew, without her saying one single word of complaint, that she had not deliberately provoked Nnoitra - that she was upset and bleeding was clue enough the Quinto Espada was involved. She and Ulquiorra had spent enough time together in the frigid white room that they had become attuned to one another – the simplest twitch of his brow, the slightest tension in his hands; Orihime could instantly tell what emotion the supposedly emotionless man was trying to suppress.

When he left her room, his mouth was tensed in a reaction she had never seen before – anger perhaps?

Orihime, having peeled herself off the floor, was still pondering the impossible when Ulquiorra returned, humming quietly to herself as her feet continued to swing back and forth, toes lightly skimming the stone on the occasional pass. So engrossed in the motion of her dainty feet, she didn’t even hear him enter.

“Why?”

As her wide gray eyes turned up at him in surprise, Ulquiorra roughly grabbed her cheek; she attempted to speak through his grip, but only managed a few mushy words before the tears of pain started. The long, elegant fingers loosened into an almost caressing gesture before the hand dropped efficiently to his side – but all Orihime could focus on was the bizarre heat that emanated from those digits, the first source of warmth she had found since coming to Hueco Mundo. Absently, her fingers rushed to cover their spot on her cheek – barely wincing as she reveled in the warmth he had left behind.

“Heal yourself.” Imperative, a command, said without any warmth or concern for her pride.

She shook her head stubbornly and watched him approach with wide eyes.

“Heal yourself, Orihime,” he urged softly, almost gently, the green eyes flickering with the slightest of life. He leaned forward and looked as if he were about to touch her again – but held back, waiting for her to heed him.

Wide eyes widened further at his unexpected softness, and Orihime was startled to find herself complying with his quietly voiced request without compunction. For some reason her stomach was in knots, the minute sliver of unvoiced concern in his eyes prompting an almost guilty feeling for letting Nnoitra touch her even in a violent manner. The toothy Espada’s advances were becoming more and more persistent – and though she rejected his demands, the violent outburst and the rapid flashing of his fists had surprised her.

Then why did she feel so comfortable around Ulquiorra? It made no sense – he was the Cuatro Espada and could injure her far more grievously than Grimmjow or Nnoitra – but somehow Orihime felt he wouldn’t hurt her. Maybe because of Aizen-sama’s orders; maybe because he considered her to not be ‘trash’; and somewhere deep in her inexperienced heart she thought maybe because he cared about her – even just a little. Her innocent little mind couldn’t understand what kept him coming back to her pale cell other than loyalty to Aizen, but Nnoitra had unknowingly opened her eyes to what lay beneath.

He refuses, you know, Nnoitra had spat as her cheekbone snapped under his fist. Aizen-sama offers, but he refuses to allow the other Espada to watch over you. Why is that, you suppose?

Her Shun Shun Rikka finished the healing easily, but Orihime’s cheek continued to tingle unexpectedly even after the blood vessels and bone were knitted back together. Absently she touched the still-warmed skin as her gray eyes drifted to the floor, unmindful that her watcher was still watching.

“Why?” He asked again abruptly, his voice edging on harsh.

“Why what, Ulquiorra-san?” Her gaze snapped back up to his pale face, eyebrows twitching together in slight confusion.

“Why did Nnoitra hit you?”

Her gaze quickly fell to the floor, a hot flush of shame and disgust flooding her cheeks, chasing away the delicious ghost of heat left by his fingers.

“I…refused him,” Orihime mumbled, fingers twisting nervously in her lap.

Ulquiorra’s silence did nothing to calm her quaking nerves. Several minutes passed in the cold stillness of her room, he standing impassively, she seated and nervous, before the Espada abruptly turned heel and made for the door to the cell.

“Ulquiorra-san!” Orihime said sharply.

He stopped immediately at the desperate tone of her voice, turning in profile to observe her through one clear green eye.

“Why?”

Ulquiorra twisted his body around to fully face her, curiously observing Orihime’s delicate features so twisted in fright and desperation.

“Why what, Orihime?”

That was the second time in this short few minutes that he had called her by her given name – something he had only done sporadically before. The way the syllables of her name sounded in his mellifluous voice had her neck prickling with a very disturbing, but delicious shiver. What was this warmth he was showing her? Some test – some manner of punishment?

Orihime’s chest had tightened so much under the drab white of her official Arrancar dress that she thought her heart or lungs might burst under the strain – it took all of her strength to blurt out her questions.

“Why only you? Why don’t you allow the other Espada to share the care of me?”

In a blink he was there beside her, standing over her seated form with the long white-fingered hand cupping against her cheek, his thin lips twitching in what might have resembled a smile if he had ever been capable of such a thing.

“Would you prefer another?”

The heat of his palm was so intense, so distracting Orihime had a hard time understanding his question; unconsciously she pushed her petal soft cheek further into the warmth of his hand. He took her slight movement as the only answer he needed, lips twitching yet again.

“I thought not,” the Cuatro Espada murmured as he leaned forward, silky black strands dancing across his cheeks.

He closed the short distance between them quickly, slitting his eyes to watch her face as he held her face gently. Dipping his head suddenly, Ulquiorra brushed his lips over hers softly, pulling back with a rough caress of his thumb to watch Orihime gasp and pull one hand to her lips in shock.

His lips – they burned they were so warm compared to their dismal surroundings; Orihime’s lips tingled from the intimately chaste kiss. Gray eyes wide in shock, cheeks flushed with embarrassment and something akin to budding desire, the ginger-haired woman watched him turn away and head to the door for the second time.

“I prefer that you prefer me,” Ulquiorra said in an undertone over his shoulder. Hearing her softly thumping footsteps behind him, he stopped and turned again.

She didn’t know what she was doing – only that she didn’t want him to leave her alone with the cold again. Orihime wanted to be warm, wanted something from Ulquiorra and she was determined to find out what this liquidy feeling in her belly was. Reaching his still form in only a few steps, she launched herself at him with such urgency that her momentum nearly knocked them over.

Unheeding of the awkward balance, supple arms twined around the Espada’s neck as Orihime pressed her mouth against his with such urgency her teeth smashed painfully against the soft flesh of her upper lip. She opened her mouth to protest, but only emitted a short gasp as Ulquiorra’s tongue pressed slickly past her bruised lips.

The painful lip forgotten, Orihime reveled in the heat emanating from the terribly thin body against hers, her breasts pressing insistently into his chest as he wrapped leanly muscular arms around her waist. It was as if she was trying to devour him, her tongue warring against his own – lips melding, teeth clashing. Whatever the name for the delicious tension in her belly, the heat of the Espada’s body and the masterful way he was kissing her was causing the tension to coil insistently, forcing her to push forward and emit a breathy little moan into his mouth.

His arms tightened at her muted exclamation of desire, delighted at her easy responses. There was something about Orihime that shouted sensuality – Ulquiorra had picked up on it early on, fascinated and strangely attracted even as Nnoitra and Grimmjow were. The unlikely assignment as her guardian had forced him to discover how innocent she really was underneath that natural sexuality. As their kisses became more and more urgent, her hands began to wander lazily over his shoulders and trail into the black silk of his hair – Ulquiorra knew her innocence would be conquered with her natural need to explore these sensations.

Sliding down his body encircled in his embrace, lips still locked firmly on his own, one small hand snuck underneath his white jacket to the supple skin beneath; as her dainty palm pressed against his abdomen, Orihime whimpered and suddenly pulled away.

“Take it off,” she commanded quietly, wanting to feel the heat of his skin directly.

As he shrugged out of the garment, Ulquiorra marveled at how different she looked now as compared to when he found her shivering on the floor earlier. Face flushed, hair mussed, lips rosy and swollen, chest heaving as she breathed heavily, hands almost clenching as if she was anticipating tearing the clothes from his body. Innocent she may be, but Orihime was not ignorant – she knew exactly what she wanted.

Free of the jacket, her hands were on him before the cloth drifted to the floor, their mouths together again as her hands explored the narrow expanse of his waist. He tentatively brought his hands to the neck of her dress, tickling the exposed skin above the collar with tender fingertips. Impatient, Orihime found the hidden fastener and snapped it open, unzipping the front of her dress with no self-consciousness whatsoever.

Other clothes followed suit in rapid succession, hands exploring skin – they were pale on pale, white on cream the only streaks of color now her hair and his eyes. Strangely, now without clothing Orihime was almost overheating; Ulquiorra’s body next to hers and the excitement of his touches had set fire to her in some primal fashion, silver slivers of excitement racing from one nerve to another in a series of cascading waves of pleasure. He kissed her neck, her collarbone, laved a warm path with his tongue and mouth over her breasts, feeling her twitching under his roaming hands and listening to her breathy moans grow louder and louder as time passed.

Ulquiorra was startled into a groan as a hand lightly brushed against his very prominent erection; pleased at his reaction, Orihime wasted no time in exploring that very curious piece of anatomy. It was so responsive, twitching in appreciation as she stroked carefully; she watched, fascinated, as his eyes slipped shut and his lips pressed firmly together. She squeezed gently and those brilliant green eyes flew open; she squeezed gently again and moved her hand – he made a guttural grunt of pleasure before tugging gently at her wrist.

Momentarily disappointed, she found herself being led back to her cold, lonely bed that now seemed neither cold nor lonely. Ulquiorra arranged her gently on her back, drawing his elegant fingers across her shoulders and down her very sensitive breasts. One hand lingering to cup and tease, the other continued to trail down her softly rounded abdomen, coming to rest just above the nest of auburn curls.

Orihime gasped and arched her back as he gently traced random patterns over her sex, pushing hard against his hand as the digit probed deeper into her gathering wetness. She groaned and arched, rubbing herself against his hand in search of more of that luscious friction; Ulquiorra felt himself hardening more at her wanton display, her need infecting him with his own. Where this need, this crashing desire had come from, neither one knew – but deep into this passion neither of them cared.

When he halted his caresses to position himself at her entrance, Orihime’s lust clouded eyes cleared for a moment. The Cuatro Espada, poised to claim her as his own, waited for her visible assent. With a small nod, he pushed forward slowly, face contorting against the intense contractions of her inner walls. There was almost no resistance, only sweet enveloping heat and that tight slickness.

It was mildly uncomfortable, but Orihime had been expecting much worse – this was more like stubbing your toe than the horrible, excruciating pain some of her friends had described. Mildly uncomfortable subsided into mildly pleasurable as Ulquiorra held himself steady; impatient as ever, Orihime pressed her pelvis up against his, nearly missing his grimace of desire as those silvery shocks fired up her spine.

Unable and unwilling to delay the pleasure any longer, Ulquiorra withdrew slightly from her and then pressed back just as quickly, watching her regal face twist as the shocks of pleasure started to build. Moaning wantonly, Orihime squeezed her eyes shut and wrapped her arms around his neck.

It was like dancing, she thought distractedly as he guided her hips up to meet his, except dancing had never felt this good, this explosive, this hot. And her heat was building up, that coil in her belly tightening as the tension became almost more than she could bear, her body taut like the head of a drum.

“Please,” she begged. For what she didn’t know, but it certainly deserved to be begged for.

Ulquiorra seemed to know, quickened his pace ever so slightly, their bodies slamming together harder and harder as they raced towards their releases. Orihime’s moans became shrieks as she started to clench around him, her inner walls fluttering as the impending storm of her orgasm approached.

It was a beautiful thing to watch when it finally crashed upon her – ginger hair splayed
out, nails digging into his shoulders as she held on for dear life; her face slacked as her abdomen clenched; she became impossibly tighter and Ulquiorra lost his own hard-fought battle of control. Her reedy scream of completion would have stunned him if he hadn’t been occupied dying a little death of his own.

Panting, sweaty, blissfully sore, Orihime drifted back to the green-eyed face of reality staring her in the face – a soft expression ghosting over his features in lieu of a post-coital smile. Cocooned in a bizarrely tender embrace, warm from the top of her head to the tips of her curling toes, Orihime was content as she whispered quietly before falling asleep,

“I definitely prefer you.”

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A/N: First post at AFF - hope you all enjoy it.