Bleach 1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Bleach nor do I make any profit from this story. The title is taken from and Artic Monkeys song by the same name.

**A/N:** Ok, so I am primarily a Yaoi writer as you may already know, but given my own sexuality and the fact that I love women just as much as men, I thought "What the heck, why not write a yuri?" So here it is, my first Yuri between one of my favorite Yuri pairings. It is short, it's a little longer than a drabble, but not long enough to be regular length. If the response for this is good, I may do a second part from the alternate perspective. Sound good? Well, enjoy!

**Warning: **Not THAT graphic depictions of sex

TillThatTime

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**Dance Little Liar**

She's standing in front of me.

Her body is still, statuesque, unmoving with the slight tremors of nervousness, anticipation, lust, and _rage_ that are no doubt taking over my own frame. She stares at me, her gold eyes squinted slightly from the force of her nearly lecherous grin. And in all my life I swear that I've never seen anything as beautiful as her. Every single moment that I look at her I am reminded of why I do this to myself. She is the illusion of perfection that fools me every single time.

She takes a step towards me. I will my body to take one back, my mouth opening, ready to question her on why she's here, yet again. The inquiry gets stuck in my throat, dry and painful as I watch her hands raise up slowly to untie the knot of her simple top. Long, elegant fingers work at the tie until it gives easily and the strings fall, revealing without modest ceremony the exquisiteness of her upper body. Lean abdominal muscles incased in velvety dark flesh, an elegant curve of a navel dip, a small beauty mark on the left side of her lovely hips, and breasts, perfectly formed, much larger than my own, raising slightly with each breath as those pretty brown nipples harden in the chill of the night. All these things I've seen many times, but it's never enough, so I've memorized them completely, down to each angle and curve so when the day comes that she finally leaves me forever, I'll at least have my memories to hold onto and begrudge.

I feel humbled by her body, inadequate and ugly next to her. She often tells me that's not true, but I do not believe her. She's advancing on me again, her cat-like grin widening even further as she notices the way I stare at her, notices the way my hands reach forward on their own accord and my teeth come out to bite my lip to keep the sound at bay that threatens to spill out just from the _sight_ of her. I want to hate her for this power she has over me. No one should be able to control me like this, no one should be able to make me feel like I should bend to their every will, but I can't bring myself to muster up those type of feeling towards her, not really, because just one glance of her is all that it takes to bring me to my knees, and no matter how much my pride protests, it will never win against her.

Within seconds she is in front of me, and her hands come up to clasp at my own outstretched ones, our different skin tones making a nearly beautiful contrast in the moonlight that seeps into my home. She guides my hands to her breasts. I let her do so with no protest. Her nipples poke at the sword calloused flesh of my palms, and she feels warm and heavy and delicious in my hands. I do groan this time, low, somewhere in the back of my throat and I'm so entranced by the presence of her that I hear and feel the amused chuckle she admits, but I do not register it enough to be embarrassed by it.

I lean forward, my lips coming to rest on her heart, and for a moment I just _breathe _her in. She smells of warm grass and lightening and…him. She smells like _him_. It's faint but it's there. Something inside me snaps, my little, delicate resolve crumbles and I lurch forward, spin us, and press her roughly against the wall, only momentarily worried about whether or not the wood has scraped the beautiful flesh of her back.

She gasps for a second, having the decency to sound surprised, even though she's probably not. I waste no time attaching my lips to the soft skin of her neck. My tongue drags along, my teeth scrape, my hands knead almost roughly at her breasts and terrible little whimpers of desperation fall unbidden from my throat. I, in that moment, want to claim her as mine and only mine over and over again. I want to break her down, shatter her perfection and rebuild it into dedication for me. I want to tame this soul that has over powered me and I want to wipe off everything on her that's fake…namely him.

She purrs in satisfaction from somewhere above, or maybe it's a growl and her hands come up to tangle in my hair, but I pull them away just as quickly, press them back against the wall, hold her in a bind of my hands and my body that she could easily break if she wanted to.

She chuckles as I bite viciously into her collarbone, arching slightly into the touch even as I taste the coppery essence of her blood.

"My my, what an aggressive little bee you are tonight." She says clearly, her voice holding no hint of strain, and I curse against her skin as I trail my lips and teeth and tongue downwards until I'm circling one protruding peak of flesh noticing the way it hardens even further when I poke it just right with my tongue, or suck with just enough pressure. Little bee, little bee, oh how I've grown to hate that term of affection. Years of adoration, love, lust and degradation all spent willingly for the sake of her has turned me into something more. My desperation for her has created a monster in me that started out small and grew and grew until there was no longer a little monster in me but I was the fucking little _monster _myself.

I am the little monster, and she is the little liar. The little liar that tricks the childish little monster every time. However, I suppose that's not really the truth. She never really promised me anything to begin with. She never promised to devote herself entirely to me. She never promised that I wouldn't have to share her like some precious little toy between too grubby handed children. She never promised that she wouldn't leave me. Yet, every time she kisses me, holds me, fucks me, they feel like little lies, little lies that I desperately want to believe.

My hands reach up to her hair, clasp it roughly in one hand while the other pulls on the cord that holds it together. Thick strands of deep purple cascade over my hands falling around us like a protective veil, and for a moment I relish in the feel of it brushing against my cheeks, before I'm sinking slowly to the floor and unto my knees, in a position that feels familiar physically and emotionally whenever I am in her presence. I look up to her from my position below her, knowing that this was how it would always be, no matter how much I improved, no matter what rank I achieved, no matter how much I was respected, it would always be me looking up to her for approval while she smiles fondly down at me, her precious little bee.

"Buzz buzz." She hums and I burry my face in her flat stomach, not wanting to look at her to see her expression filled with affection and apology for the things she's made me feel but not the things she's done. We both know that I know I'm not the only one who gets to see her like this, that privilege is shared with a man who hides behind fans and cleverly formed lies, and I have to wonder, not for the first time, if he loves her even half as much as I do.

I'm not sure which answer I would prefer.

It is not apart of my pride to watch as the things that should belong to me are possessed, even if only momentarily, by another, but she has always been an exception to every single rule I've firmly set in place. To me, no matter the pain it causes me, to have her and share her is profoundly better than not having her at all.

My fingers fumble with the tie of her pants, making me feel clumsy and inexperienced, and I inhale sharply as they finally slip down her long lean legs. She wears no garment under her clothes, she never has, and it used to embarrass me, cause me cheeks to heat in a blush, but now I can only groan helplessly as the scent of her hits me.

I feel vindictive tonight, just a little rebellious, so I decide to tease her. I run my tongue along one protruding hipbone to another, the heat of her skin burning my appendage. I follow a line upward to her belly button, thrusting into it with my tongue in a lewd act of the things she's done with a stupid man. I nip harshly at the flesh, draw it into my mouth, suck it, and mark her with no sense of pride because I know she will never fully belong to me anyway.

A hand falls into my hair, tangling in it and pulling and I'm forced to look up at her. Her eyes are glazed, and her mouth open in a pant, and for everything that I don't have, at least I have this.

"Soi fon," She warns sharply. "Not tonight."

This is not a night for playful teasing, even if there's nothing playful in my intentions but rather some small form of punishment for the pain she causes me, but I find myself respecting her wishes as always, and my mouth falls on her, and I hear her gasp sharply from above.

My tongue darts out to taste her and to savor the familiarity of it and the way she trembles beneath the hands that I've now placed on her hips. I urge her legs wider by placing my bent knees between them and her hands are still clutching at my hair, pulling none too gently as I make long swipes and small flicks, playing her body to a tune that only I have memorized and perfected. One of my hands removes itself from its position on her hip and with a single finger I trace her opening before plunging it inside, wanting to cry at the thought of something else much longer than my fingers being inside of her. I wonder how many times before she came to me that he touched her like this, licked her like this, fucked her like my fingers are now attempting to do. My fingers will never reach as far as him, never implant themselves like he can. I wonder why she comes to me at all. Would I be better if I were a man, would she choose to only be with me then? I doubt these are questions that I will ever get the answer to.

She is thrusting her hips into my face now, moving in time with my strokes, and I allow her to, welcome it even. She cries out long and beautifully and suddenly with a harsh flick of my tongue on her sensitive bud she tightens insanely around my fingers, her back arching off the wall as she reaches the throes of ecstasy into my mouth. I moan, my own sex throbbing between my legs, but my own pleasure will always come second to hers in my mind. I continue to stroke her gently as she rides out her orgasm. After a few moments she collapses back against the wall, breathing harshly and I rest my cheek once more on her trembling belly. Her hands are now back to carding through my hair, only much more gently this time, she hums softly, enjoying the moment and in the tenderness of it all, the tears finally come. They fall wet and heavy against her stomach and I sob softly, wanting nothing more than to hold onto her forever even though I'll have to let her go by sunrise. She sinks down along the wall, her hands pulling me to be held against her, cooing softly in my ear.

"Shh, don't cry, little bee."

And for some reason her sweet voice and the smell of her hair along my face just causes me to sob harder


	2. Alternating Perspectives

A/N: You know, actually I never planned on doing Kisuke as the other perspective, it had always been Yoruichi. However a lot of people seemed to think the other one was going to be him, so it got me thinking and I decided that I did in fact want to do it. So, this story will now be a three parter showing all three perspectives. The final part being Yoruichi. Kisuke's is more of a drabble and quite a bit shorter than the other two perspectives. I want to make everyone's inner thoughts different because they're all vastly different characters, and I wanted to stay true to that. Plus, I wanted to show more aspects into how someone might deal with a situation like this.

Special, special thanks to my lovely reviewers. You have no idea how much you mean to me:

siyentista AllJAck3dUp-11 SoldierG65434-2 VividBlues Lilyhammer

AlienRiku Tearless_girl

elfinbunion hope4laughsxX CaptainYoruichi

YouWishICare

Christina-san

Alternating Perspectives

The spot next to me in my bed is empty.

It wasn't a surprise the first time it happened some hundred and fifty years ago, and it certainly isn't a surprise now.

I turn over onto my side and look at the place she had once been laying. There's no reason for it, no act that I have to withhold in the privacy of my own room, but I smile anyway. It's as forced as it always is but to me it's the most natural thing in the world.

I know where she's gone to, just as I have always known, and I would like to quote the dramatic prose of brilliant and naïve writers who say that the pain does not get easier with time, but they have not lived as long as I have, and it does.

It gets easier and easier to deal with every time it happens. Or perhaps I just don't notice it that much any more, but either way, that is what acceptance does to a person.

I at least know without a shadow of a doubt that I'm fairing much better than the other side of the Yoruichi's triangle, but then again, I was the one who came first. I had to watch as a bit of her was taken away from me, a certain little captain, never had my piece to begin with.

Yoruichi and I had known each other for years, had known each other's touch for years, before she even met Soi Fon, and I was the one who stood by and watched as my lover's eyes lingered on the young girl longer than necessary, and her touches strayed past platonic, until finally Yoruichi was leaving my bed for her's.

And I let it happen.

Without a single moment of complaint, I let it happen, because I love her.

It's wrapped in lies and condescension and regret, but it's there, just as vibrant as it has always been.

And when you love someone as much as I love her, you learn to share.

At least that's what I tell myself to make things easier.

I don't believe Soi Fon has figured that out yet.

As much as I want to hate the little bitch as much as I know she hates me, for taking away even a fraction of what's supposed to be mine, I can't bring myself to do it, because her love is just as present as my own and I've been too selfish with other things in my life to be selfish now.

Perhaps this is my own way of making amends for the things I cannot take back.

With the world constantly falling around by my ears, and somehow myself always being the source behind it, I don't pretend that I have the right to greedily covet something away.

Especially if that something shines as bright as Yoruichi.

Still, sometimes I like to think I hate her, just a little bit.

Though we've never openly discussed it, just as I know she's never discussed it with her other little lover,

we all know what's going on. Yoruichi knows just as well as we do that even though she may have her legs

wrapped around us, we're wrapped far more tightly around her finger. If I didn't know any better, I would just think she was playing with us for the pure enjoyment of it. Sometimes, when I'm feeling a little more bitter than usual and the sake's not doing its job, I still think that.

It's in those moments that I also think, despite the fact that I hold seniority, it is Soi Fon who will win in the end. That one day when Yoruichi leaves my bed she will leave it forever and I will be left with a pain that is no more lessened by the fact that I knew it all along.

I'm sure Soi Fon believes it to be the opposite. She's so far wrapped up in her own insecurities that she doesn't realize that she may hold more cards than I do.

I sort of feel like the first wife discarded for the younger trophy and that thought alone makes me chuckle into my pillow despite everything, because one thing I know is that Yoruichi has always had the ability to make me laugh.

I do have to wonder why she does this though. Why she can't just let one of us go and end this once and for all. Is it selfishness that drives her or something else? I never try too hard to think about Yoruichi making a final decision because I'm not sure if I'll actually like the end result. I've been told that I make brilliant deductions, and though I'm truly only a fool in the guise of a genius I think on this one the hypothesis might match up to the conclusion.

Other times I wonder if I should just let her go after all. If I should just hang up my hat and admit defeat, but I toy with that thought even less than all the others because I know it's ridiculous. I'm no more ready to give her up as she is to give up this game, which is why I'm a willing piece in her puzzle.

I'm sure for Soi Fon it is the same.

Actually the thought that I linger on the most is the idea that maybe we could learn to share her in a different way. Maybe we don't have to share at all, maybe we could learn to tolerate each other and we could both have her openly. Maybe Yoruichi could learn to share us as much as we share her. It's not as if Soi Fon is unattractive and despite my resentment towards her and her loathing towards me, we probably understand how the other feels more than anyone else. Plus, maybe it's what Yoruichi truly wants. To have both of us in her arms together.

I really can be an idiot sometimes.

A fool wrapped in lies that are not always my own.

The world is imperfect.

I know that better than anyone.

Soi fon couldn't come to me, just as much as I couldn't bare to see her touch what is mine in front of my face.

Not yet, at least.

I grab the pillow next to me and bury my face into it.

It smells like her still.


End file.
