Bleach 1. Chapter 1: Dancing

I think I'm going to stick to this series of drabbles for the time being. School is coming up, and the reason I was MIA was because I had procrastinated on all of my summer homework, and also, my schedule has blown up like no other so...I ACTUALLY HAVE A LIFE NOW AND I COULDN'T WRITE AS MUCH ICHIRUKI AS I WANTED TO FUUUUUU. Anyway, this sentence probably doesn't make sense since it is 3 in the morning, and I just wrote this drabble, so pardon any mistakes it may have. I just felt insanely guilty I hadn't updated for around two weeks, so, yeah. Yes, look forward to this drabble series, and Oh! will be put on a temporary hiatus as my life switches gears :)

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Dancing, Cold

"Maybe you should stop waiting around for me then," he said, his voice lost in the crowded room. The show was starting, the musicians plucking at their strings and coughing into their mics. The club patrons crossed their legs and waited. I sat closer to him, but our stools were only so close.

"Why?" I knew I sounded as confused as I felt, and I hated that. He always managed to bring out the weaknesses in me. He always had such magic. He always said my name in that husky voice of his, with eyes that were always heavy and smoldering like melting candles in a dark room.

He sighed, tilting his head up to look at the bar menu.

_Ladies Night._

It was neon, and it was missing an 'i'. I knew he hated stuff like that; things that were missing things. Not that it made much sense, either way you looked at it. Then again, Ichigo never really made much sense.

"Rukia, I never do anything for you. I can't do anything for you. Especially since your brother disowned you and everything." His calloused fingers wrapped around the handle of his mug, dragging it lazily across the counter. There was the dull scrap of china across the glossy surface.

"What do you mean by that," I half laughed as the lights dimmed, and, strangely, the smell of coffee and cigarettes grew more pronounced in the darkness. "You're here with me tonight, aren't you?"

"Maybe." The word was a verbal thought, left unfinished in the air.

A guitar chord ascended into the air, upturning into twangy, curling spirals amidst the delicate fluttering of keyboard notes.

His hand found mine.

"Ichigo…"

"Let's go."

He got up, splaying his fingers across the bar. He laid out four fives and a quarter, gathering up his trench coat and tugging at my hand. Those calloused digits, secure and strong, wrapped around my wrist as he pulled me through the swaying silhouette of the crowd and out the front door. The winter air was colder than we had both imagined, and he hurriedly tugged on his coat. I rubbed my hands together for warmth. My palms were dry, I needed lotion.

His boots crunched in the snow as he walked down the sidewalk. I followed closely, although it was somewhat hard, being that his strides were so long and he always loped whenever he walked. Despite how he always left me behind when he walked like this, I really didn't mind. It was a fantastic way of walking, and I wouldn't have preferred him any other way. My precious long-legged Ichigo and his loping.

Ichigo turned the corner, his bright, orange hair half in the streetlight and half in the darkness of the alleyway. He looked like a cat, peering out from the shadows.

"Follow me, baby."

My footsteps were light and delicate as I skirted around glassy pools of ice.

"You haven't called me that in a long time."

"I know. I'm sorry."

I stopped once I was in front of him. I watched his face carefully, "No need to be sorry for anything. Shit happens."

We could hear the music through the walls, through the heavy bricks. I tried to keep time, tapping my foot until I tripped. He scoffed, but he caught me, putting his hand around my waist. He pulled me to him, and we stood there, half in the light, half in the dark. His bare fingers reached to trace patterns on the frosted window sill.

"What are you doing," I murmured, reveling in the warmth emanating from his tall, strong frame. His camel-hair coat felt coarse against my face, he smelled like wood-smoke and cognac.

"Trying to figure out what to say."

He sighed heavily, and I felt it reverberate against my cheek. I was leaning my head against his chest.

This was how Ichigo and I were. One moment, we could be sitting in all awkwardness, trying to listen to a band play when all we were listening to was the distance between us. The next moment, we could be together and all tangled up in each other like no other. It was crazy.

"Rukia, I've decided that I'm going to try. I know I'm a fuck up, and I'm not the most reliable person around…but." His fingers traced a scraggly circle on the glass.

I looked up and saw that his cheeks were turning pink from the cold. His eyelashes, long and dark, were shuttered over his eyes. They widened fractionally, and for a moment I could see into their swirling, languid depths. Deep, dark ochre.

"Rukia, just promise me that you will accept my love. Promise me that," his breath came out in silvery, spiraling plumes, "even though I may not love you the way you want me to…" he dipped his head down. His lips were cold against mine, but his voice was soft and warm against my cheek, "that you will still love me back. Because I will always love you the best I can." His fingers left the snow, moved to grasp my head. His kiss was tender, drugging. He simply took from me, scraping his teeth against my lips, dipping his tongue to steal my breath. He was dragging me over the edge, making me go soft and vulnerable in his arms.

The passion was fleeting.

It left me wanting more. But he was gone before I could reach for the back of his neck. His hands grasped mine, and he pulled us away from the wall.

The music was still playing, so we danced. Our movements were slow and awkward, but amidst the smiles I couldn't hide, and the way I always seemed to captivate his eyes, we managed a step or two.

It was a cold night, but it was a good night for dancing.


	2. Chapter 2: Autumn

Dear Rukia,

Why do you have to do this to me? It's 2 in the morning, I'm cold because I'm too lazy to turn the heat on, I'm hungry but I don't feel like doing anything about it. Why am I always like this when you're not around? Not that I'm _not_ lazy, but somehow, everything seems pointless when you're not by my side. It's like there's no purpose to doing anything; I stand in the shower and I just stare at the bottles of shampoo and body-wash filled with stupid, senseless propaganda and it drives me crazy. I never even touch any of the bottles—well, except for that vanilla orchard thing you always wash your hair with. I don't put it on or anything, that would be pretty fucking greasy of me, and I don't want you to think I'm _greasy_, but I can't help but just uncap it and smell it. It makes me feel better, honestly it does.

I went on a walk today. Yeah, a walk...now I sound like some cheesy asshole you'd find bagging your groceries at a Walmart. But I'm not like that…you know me, Rukia. I may act like an asshole, but I sure as hell am not an asshole. I have too strong a sense of justice for that.

Now back to the walking; it was good…I guess. The sun didn't shine too bright, so that was pleasant. (You know how I get when the sun is in my eyes.) The wind wasn't cold, wasn't hot; it was just right. You should've been there to feel it with me. You love autumn weather like this. I always figured you would like a season like winter, being that you're a Kuchiki and all. Byakuya is an icy bastard, and you can't disprove me when I say that it runs in the family. Well, maybe not immediate family, but living with him must've had it rub off on you a little bit. You're frowning as you read this, aren't you? Probably thinking of strangling my big, fat, ugly neck. You can strangle me all you want, but just don't frown. This sounds stupid, but the day you smiled so big looking out the window at the falling leaves…I told myself I wouldn't mind if it was autumn all year long.

Plus I'm not the only one who's been cheesy. You said you liked autumn because the leaf colors reminded you of my hair. Ha. I thought you said my hair was atrocious. I remember I nearly dyed it brown. I wasn't doing it for you, but I just wanted a change, that's all. But you kept grabbing the bottle away from me, kept on saying, "No no no, I like your hair the way it is." over and over again. You love my hair color, don't you?

In all seriousness Rukia, I do miss you. I hate rolling over and feeling that cold, empty spot next to me where you should be. I hate how my stomach drops, and then I have to sit up to fight back that ugly feeling inside of me that lets me know I'm about to cry. Don't make fun of me, I'm sentimental. Too fucking sentimental for my own good. So, when are you coming back? It's Tuesday, right? Well that's good. Because autumn's just around the corner.

Love,

Ichigo


	3. Chapter 3: Starry Sky

A/N: A one-shot for the Christmas and New Year Give away: Whispers of Love going on at the Ichiruki Fanclub at Bleachasylum. I plan on revisiting this in the future...I'm a bit unsatisfied with some parts since I wrote it in half an hour, give or take. But, this scene was just itching to write itself, so I let it run its course. Hope you enjoy it!

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The night was balmy and dreamy, a gentle breeze lingering here and there in short sweet bursts. The sand was warm against my skin, evidence of the searing heat that had permeated Punta Cana during the day.

"You cold?"

His voice was rough against the softness of the air. It descended upon me, sending little sparks of excitement shooting through my veins. I turned my head so I could catch a glimpse of him. Ichigo was tall and lean against the moonlight. Milky, translucent light poured delicately down the slopes of the sand dunes we were on, ran up the strong curvature of muscle in his legs, outlined his broad shoulders and strong jawline. His orange hair was an unruly mop, but, somehow, I found it all the more attractive when he tousled it with his fingers. He paused to peer at me from under his long bangs.

"I'm okay," I shrugged, turning back to face the ocean. I hated how I always found myself staring at him. It was unfair…it really was.

"Uh huh." He stopped next to me, feet shoulder-width apart, his arms folded across his chest. I drew my knees up, curled into a ball and looked at him sullenly.

"Just sit down, will you?"

He didn't respond.

"The sea really isn't that fascinating. Sit down." I poked his leg for added emphasis.

He tilted his head up to survey the sky. I rolled my eyes; only Ichigo could choose to appreciate the aesthetic quality of universe at the most inopportune times.

"Have you ever wondered…what would've happened…if we hadn't made it back alive?"

My irritation gone, I stiffened, waiting for his next words. But they never came. It was as if they had trailed out of his lips and ran away like smoke. He crouched down next to me, grabbing my hand and folding it within his own. I didn't know what to say, so I settled for speechlessness. The silence was filled with the gentle roar of the waves, crashing and rolling onto the shingled beach. Webs of foam laced the rocky shallows; frothy, delicate lace on the indigo waters.

"That's too scary to think about." He concluded in a low voice, to himself, almost. I squeezed his hand, offering him what support I could. It had been years since Hueco Mundo. Since his battle up on the dome, a horrible place that had nearly torn apart his soul. There were wounds that had healed, scars that now criss-crossed his body, but furthermore, there were also wounds that lay underneath he had never come to terms with.

"And losing you, Rukia. It was only two years, but still…"

My voice was barely audible, "Two years is a long time, Ichigo."

He looked at me, "Two years is nothing for shinigamis."

Something caught in my throat. Blinking back tears, I looked down at our conjoined hands. M voice diminished to a whisper, "It _was _a long time…for me."

And then his arms were winding around me, holding me close to him. His head lay upon mine, comforting in its weight and warmth. He smelled like summer storms and spring rains. Everything about him communicated strength, and this was never so apparent as now, when those strong limbs were holding me tightly…securely. It was the nicest feeling in the world, laying my head on his chest, hearing his steady heart beat. It was as if it was beating to the tune of some immense melody of the universe.

"Ichigo…I've decided that I'm cold."

He chuckled, his voice low and husky. It made me the shiver, the way he laughed like that. He shifted, aligning us so he held me in his lap. He brushed his lips against my forehead, pressing a chaste kiss to the tip of my nose.  
"Do you want to go back to the villa then?"

I rolled my eyes. Stupid boys. Persistent in having my way, I tugged at his collar, bringing his lips flush against mine. Warmth spread through me in hot, heady sensations. He was a careful, giving lover, and I dissolved in his arms. It must've been the way he kissed me, so tenderly and longingly. When, regretfully, we broke apart for air, I ran my lips against his cheekbone. Against his ear, I whispered, "This is all I need."


End file.

Bleach, Poetry, Romance