Icy Heart of Summer (Bleach - Rukia/Sode no Shirayuki)
Author: Only_dani
Title: Icy Heart of Summer
Fandom: Bleach
Rating: M - NC-17
Word Count: 1689
Summary/Prompt: Written for Springkink - July 4: Rukia/Sode no Shirayuki: Partnership-- "Of all the seasons, winter befriends me."
Thank you to whoever prompted with this, it’s beautiful and I really enjoyed writing it. Its total PWP with a bit of fluff where I could fit it in.
Warnings: Selfcest or zanpakuto-cest, whichever you'd like to call it.
Disclaimer: I don’t own Bleach or make any money from this, it’s simply the product of my overactive imagination combined with my overwhelming urge to write.
***
Winter without you is like
A summer in a winter, when memories
Of your love murmur in my winter.
-Excerpt of Winter’s Summer by Venkatesh Nagaraj
The night is hot but these hands are cool as they slide against my fevered skin. Her tapered pale hands are beautiful and I’m entranced by the grace of her every move. Her touch is feather light, teasing all those secret places I have and a thrill goes through me, making my heart beats quicken just from the closeness of her. The smell of her is crisp and sweet, like a late autumn morning touched with the first kiss of frost on overripe apples.
My breath hitches, a soft sound that escapes my lips as those elegant hands gently slide the kimono off my shoulder and she carefully kisses the soft skin between my neck and shoulder. I shiver, not from her cold touch but from the heat burdened under its cool surface.
My hand rises, and it’s small, smaller than hers but no less useful - to tangle in the fine threads of her hair. I marvel at its softness, surely nothing could be this delicate. The strands in my hand catch the moonlight from the window that has been left open to catch the soft summer breeze and the color is like liquid silver running through them, falling around us in shimmering white waves. I raise my violet eyes to catch her blue ones, they’re dark right now, mirrored pools of black desire and the mysteries in them are deep and unfathomable. I want to dive into her; I want to learn them all.
I bring her in to kiss me, and there’s no hesitation in her, just smooth skin, cool breath and soft curves. Her taste, I find, is better even than her smell. She’s the taste of moonlight on freshly fallen snow, of spring ice melt, just off the glacier, and I crave her all the more. She makes a sound somewhere in the back of her throat when our tongues touch, languid and slow in a dance only we know the steps of. The sound is low and wanton. I’m undone by it.
I reach for her and my hands slide against the cool pallor of her skin. She’s pale, pristine and untouched, like a marble statue, cool and warm and somehow feeling beyond my reaching grasp. Yet she’s here in my arms and my chest feels too full and too empty at the same time whenever this happens. It makes no sense, ant yet it makes perfect sense at the same time.
Heat prickles my skin in the hollows where my body isn’t touched by her. I move to cup the heavy softness of her breast and the texture here feels as if it’s too delicate for my sword callused palms. My head dips to taste the soft pale pink bud of her nipple and now it’s me that moans as she arches her back and presses her hand to the back of my head, pulling her body closer into mine.
Her flawless fingers are moving again, removing the last pieces of my clothing. My hands search for the remnants of her pale kimono, slip it off her as well, the slide of silk against the silk of her skin thick in my ears. We‘re dressed in the simplicity of all that we are now, all we were meant to be. Draped in moonlight, alone and together as it should be. She traces the marks of my battles that tell the story of life and freedom and love and all the other reasons I fight for. There’s a tremor that I can feel in her hands when her touch skims across the planes of my body and I realize - through the fog of sensation that overruns my mind - that it’s me she trembles for.
She lowers me to our clothing bed, slides her hands down the sides of my body, rests them on the swell of my hips. When I look in her eyes they’re mischievous, lit with some kind of inner sparkle that I don’t know about, but can guess nonetheless. My breath quickens at the small smile that plays about the corners of her mouth before she glides alluringly between my parted thighs.
I tip my head back and shudder as she touches me in deep and intimate ways I never thought possible. I call out to her, my voice soft and whispering like wind through trees. Sode no Shirayuki I want- need to taste you- - please. She hears my request and shifts, turns and the columns of her legs frame my face, her dark secrets laid bare and open above me.
It’s still surprising to find that this woman, clad with the pale colors of her season would have a smoldering heat within her to rival the hottest of sweltering summer days.
The smell of her is heady, rich, and her taste is reminiscent of ripe fruit, plucked straight from the tree, taking over all the corners of my mouth so that I’m enveloped by her. Sweet, delicate… Delectable, that’s what she tastes like. These secrets of hers are still shadowed to me but I’m learning, and all the lifetimes we have together to map them out one by one is a joy to me. The brush of a finger here elicits a trembling moan, her breath soft against my inner thigh. A swirl of tongue just there and her body knots in building tension. And when I press my fingers in, and up, and in again her secrets open to me in a rush of broken sighs, hitched breaths and quivering thighs.
I moan but it’s her mouth the stuttered sounds come from, her muscles tense but it’s my back that bows to the pleasure building within us. My fingers search for purchase on the silk of her skin as more sounds fall unbidden from our lips. I can’t stop, my body stretches, arches, fills with all that’s her.
On nights like these I’m the stone and she’s the ice. She fills my cracks, breaking me open piece by sharp piece in a slow moving exodus of thought and touch and feeling.
Her tongue touches me, wraps around the small nub of pleasure that only she has ever touched, the only one I would ever let touch and I feel those first cracks widen and fill with all that she is - all that we are and I’m scared, enthralled and completely at her mercy at this slow breaking of myself.
Her fingers reach out, trace the inside of me and touch something in my core. I cry out even though I have no breath left, and for one full gasping, perfect moment I’m split, shattered and falling. Falling in to her and she accepts all the shards of me that somehow seem to crumble at her feet in a gift I barely grasp the meaning of.
She takes all the pieces of me in, accepts me and makes me whole again.
Simply put, we’re one. It’s the perfect partnership of form and function, life and death, inhale and exhale; a seamless symphony of time and thought and instinct. My breath is gone, ghosted away with the trembling of my limbs. I understand how close she is, teetering on her own precipice and using the last of my strength my hands find her waist, grab on to her tightly so that my fingernails make tiny pink crescent moons in the smooth expanse of her white skin.
I press into her again; my tongue traces hard and fast at the soft wet heat of her. She takes a breath, holds it on her tongue in silent expectation - she’s not disappointed. Half a breath more and she shudders, neck bowed, shoulders shaking and the cries from her mouth land on my ears in a soft, seemingly unending torrent of beautiful sound.
When she’s done, unable to hold her own weight I lift her from me and place her alongside my body, cooling now from our fruitful efforts. When she comes back to herself she finds that she’s wrapped in my small arms. My head rests easily on the rise of her breast. I breathe in her scent and now it’s a culmination of her and I. The way it should be, I think greedily to myself.
I curl into her and she wraps herself protectively around me, shielding me from the heat of the night. Her fingers gently card through my black hair, over and over and once again I’m undone by her.
***
When I wake I’m alone but she’s not far. I open my eyes and seek her out. She’s standing by the window, letting in the sultry summer morning air. She stands in a splinter of sunlight, wreathed in golden dust that swirls around her in slow circles and she’s blinding white, half light and darkness all at once. I can’t stop looking.
She sees me stir, turns her face towards mine and gives a smile that leaves my chest with that too full yet too empty feeling once more.
“Will you come enjoy the day with me?” she asks, a small smile graces her mouth as she comes to sit on the edge of the bed and runs her pale fingers through the night of my hair.
“It’s going to be too hot.” I mourn, and we both know it’s true. I can already feel the heat pulling at my limbs, weighing them down with summer’s humid, heavy air.
She laughs, a quiet breathy noise “It’s to be expected Rukia, but I would still like to go out. Don’t you want to make friends with summer?” She asks, her eyes are bright, child like in their enthusiasm.
“Maybe…” I say, then wrap my arms around her slender waist and pull her closer until we both are lying side by side again.
“But honestly Sode no Shirayuki, of all the seasons, winter befriends me best.”
Her eyes soften, her smile grows and in the heart of sultry summer I see diamond glints on snow.
-FIN-
Title: Icy Heart of Summer
Fandom: Bleach
Rating: M - NC-17
Word Count: 1689
Summary/Prompt: Written for Springkink - July 4: Rukia/Sode no Shirayuki: Partnership-- "Of all the seasons, winter befriends me."
Thank you to whoever prompted with this, it’s beautiful and I really enjoyed writing it. Its total PWP with a bit of fluff where I could fit it in.
Warnings: Selfcest or zanpakuto-cest, whichever you'd like to call it.
Disclaimer: I don’t own Bleach or make any money from this, it’s simply the product of my overactive imagination combined with my overwhelming urge to write.
***
Winter without you is like
A summer in a winter, when memories
Of your love murmur in my winter.
-Excerpt of Winter’s Summer by Venkatesh Nagaraj
The night is hot but these hands are cool as they slide against my fevered skin. Her tapered pale hands are beautiful and I’m entranced by the grace of her every move. Her touch is feather light, teasing all those secret places I have and a thrill goes through me, making my heart beats quicken just from the closeness of her. The smell of her is crisp and sweet, like a late autumn morning touched with the first kiss of frost on overripe apples.
My breath hitches, a soft sound that escapes my lips as those elegant hands gently slide the kimono off my shoulder and she carefully kisses the soft skin between my neck and shoulder. I shiver, not from her cold touch but from the heat burdened under its cool surface.
My hand rises, and it’s small, smaller than hers but no less useful - to tangle in the fine threads of her hair. I marvel at its softness, surely nothing could be this delicate. The strands in my hand catch the moonlight from the window that has been left open to catch the soft summer breeze and the color is like liquid silver running through them, falling around us in shimmering white waves. I raise my violet eyes to catch her blue ones, they’re dark right now, mirrored pools of black desire and the mysteries in them are deep and unfathomable. I want to dive into her; I want to learn them all.
I bring her in to kiss me, and there’s no hesitation in her, just smooth skin, cool breath and soft curves. Her taste, I find, is better even than her smell. She’s the taste of moonlight on freshly fallen snow, of spring ice melt, just off the glacier, and I crave her all the more. She makes a sound somewhere in the back of her throat when our tongues touch, languid and slow in a dance only we know the steps of. The sound is low and wanton. I’m undone by it.
I reach for her and my hands slide against the cool pallor of her skin. She’s pale, pristine and untouched, like a marble statue, cool and warm and somehow feeling beyond my reaching grasp. Yet she’s here in my arms and my chest feels too full and too empty at the same time whenever this happens. It makes no sense, ant yet it makes perfect sense at the same time.
Heat prickles my skin in the hollows where my body isn’t touched by her. I move to cup the heavy softness of her breast and the texture here feels as if it’s too delicate for my sword callused palms. My head dips to taste the soft pale pink bud of her nipple and now it’s me that moans as she arches her back and presses her hand to the back of my head, pulling her body closer into mine.
Her flawless fingers are moving again, removing the last pieces of my clothing. My hands search for the remnants of her pale kimono, slip it off her as well, the slide of silk against the silk of her skin thick in my ears. We‘re dressed in the simplicity of all that we are now, all we were meant to be. Draped in moonlight, alone and together as it should be. She traces the marks of my battles that tell the story of life and freedom and love and all the other reasons I fight for. There’s a tremor that I can feel in her hands when her touch skims across the planes of my body and I realize - through the fog of sensation that overruns my mind - that it’s me she trembles for.
She lowers me to our clothing bed, slides her hands down the sides of my body, rests them on the swell of my hips. When I look in her eyes they’re mischievous, lit with some kind of inner sparkle that I don’t know about, but can guess nonetheless. My breath quickens at the small smile that plays about the corners of her mouth before she glides alluringly between my parted thighs.
I tip my head back and shudder as she touches me in deep and intimate ways I never thought possible. I call out to her, my voice soft and whispering like wind through trees. Sode no Shirayuki I want- need to taste you- - please. She hears my request and shifts, turns and the columns of her legs frame my face, her dark secrets laid bare and open above me.
It’s still surprising to find that this woman, clad with the pale colors of her season would have a smoldering heat within her to rival the hottest of sweltering summer days.
The smell of her is heady, rich, and her taste is reminiscent of ripe fruit, plucked straight from the tree, taking over all the corners of my mouth so that I’m enveloped by her. Sweet, delicate… Delectable, that’s what she tastes like. These secrets of hers are still shadowed to me but I’m learning, and all the lifetimes we have together to map them out one by one is a joy to me. The brush of a finger here elicits a trembling moan, her breath soft against my inner thigh. A swirl of tongue just there and her body knots in building tension. And when I press my fingers in, and up, and in again her secrets open to me in a rush of broken sighs, hitched breaths and quivering thighs.
I moan but it’s her mouth the stuttered sounds come from, her muscles tense but it’s my back that bows to the pleasure building within us. My fingers search for purchase on the silk of her skin as more sounds fall unbidden from our lips. I can’t stop, my body stretches, arches, fills with all that’s her.
On nights like these I’m the stone and she’s the ice. She fills my cracks, breaking me open piece by sharp piece in a slow moving exodus of thought and touch and feeling.
Her tongue touches me, wraps around the small nub of pleasure that only she has ever touched, the only one I would ever let touch and I feel those first cracks widen and fill with all that she is - all that we are and I’m scared, enthralled and completely at her mercy at this slow breaking of myself.
Her fingers reach out, trace the inside of me and touch something in my core. I cry out even though I have no breath left, and for one full gasping, perfect moment I’m split, shattered and falling. Falling in to her and she accepts all the shards of me that somehow seem to crumble at her feet in a gift I barely grasp the meaning of.
She takes all the pieces of me in, accepts me and makes me whole again.
Simply put, we’re one. It’s the perfect partnership of form and function, life and death, inhale and exhale; a seamless symphony of time and thought and instinct. My breath is gone, ghosted away with the trembling of my limbs. I understand how close she is, teetering on her own precipice and using the last of my strength my hands find her waist, grab on to her tightly so that my fingernails make tiny pink crescent moons in the smooth expanse of her white skin.
I press into her again; my tongue traces hard and fast at the soft wet heat of her. She takes a breath, holds it on her tongue in silent expectation - she’s not disappointed. Half a breath more and she shudders, neck bowed, shoulders shaking and the cries from her mouth land on my ears in a soft, seemingly unending torrent of beautiful sound.
When she’s done, unable to hold her own weight I lift her from me and place her alongside my body, cooling now from our fruitful efforts. When she comes back to herself she finds that she’s wrapped in my small arms. My head rests easily on the rise of her breast. I breathe in her scent and now it’s a culmination of her and I. The way it should be, I think greedily to myself.
I curl into her and she wraps herself protectively around me, shielding me from the heat of the night. Her fingers gently card through my black hair, over and over and once again I’m undone by her.
***
When I wake I’m alone but she’s not far. I open my eyes and seek her out. She’s standing by the window, letting in the sultry summer morning air. She stands in a splinter of sunlight, wreathed in golden dust that swirls around her in slow circles and she’s blinding white, half light and darkness all at once. I can’t stop looking.
She sees me stir, turns her face towards mine and gives a smile that leaves my chest with that too full yet too empty feeling once more.
“Will you come enjoy the day with me?” she asks, a small smile graces her mouth as she comes to sit on the edge of the bed and runs her pale fingers through the night of my hair.
“It’s going to be too hot.” I mourn, and we both know it’s true. I can already feel the heat pulling at my limbs, weighing them down with summer’s humid, heavy air.
She laughs, a quiet breathy noise “It’s to be expected Rukia, but I would still like to go out. Don’t you want to make friends with summer?” She asks, her eyes are bright, child like in their enthusiasm.
“Maybe…” I say, then wrap my arms around her slender waist and pull her closer until we both are lying side by side again.
“But honestly Sode no Shirayuki, of all the seasons, winter befriends me best.”
Her eyes soften, her smile grows and in the heart of sultry summer I see diamond glints on snow.
-FIN-