Well, this fic brings a lot of firsts for me. It is my first time writing a Bleach fiction, let alone an IchiRuki one (I think I can call it that), my first time writing anything of this rating, and first time writing anything involving a couple, and in this writing style.

Thanks to my two lovely Beta's:

Feilyn – The goddess of italics. It is thanks to her I have discovered these wonderful things, and she had been awesome when it comes to grammar, and is so in tune with my style of writing it is scary.

Nieshka – Who always provides good solid advice and is absolutely brilliant when it comes to grammar and keeping me inspired – I hope this inspires some 'action' in your story!

I hope you like the fic, and hopefully it won't be the only Bleach fic I write!

Read and Review!

It had started out as a small disagreement. A small disagreement that had quickly escalated into a full-blown argument, leaving them both breathing hard in the tension-filled air.

The young substitute had long ago stopped talking, and was currently leaning against the wall in that oh-so-casual manner that drove her insane, arms crossed and amber eyes scrutinising her form from under long orange bangs.

"Rukia."

The quiet, forceful tone stopped her tirade in its tracks, leaving her caught for breath and in no mood to take whatever he was going to dish out to her this time.

"What?" A well placed glare to accompany the ice in her voice made him straighten up, hands unconsciously moving to the general vicinity of his thighs for the briefest of instants before he pushed himself off of the wall, moving cautiously closer.

"Rukia."

His rough voice, no longer filled with any of the previous anger, filtered through the red haze surrounding her mind and she found herself allowing him to rest his hands on her hips, and pull her close. Her breath caught again and she cursed herself for letting him have this effect on her.

"Rukia."

He whispered the name against her neck, the stubble on his chin and his warm breath sending shivers down her spine, no matter how hard she tried to ignore the proximity. God, she hated how he knew exactly how to make her forget everything but his hands on her skin, his body against hers.

He pulled away slightly, and locked his steady gaze with her weakening one, smiling slightly in amusement as she instinctively moved towards him again, her body craving the warmth that radiated from him – despite her mind telling her to step away while she had the chance.

She hated that he could do this to her, that with a simple touch and a few well chosen words he could blow all of her common sense and self-control out of the window. But most of all, she hated how she wanted him to do this to her, how she needed him to do this to her.

His hands were roaming her sides, brushing lightly against her hipbones and the sensitive skin of her stomach as he whispered her name again and again into her hair, his body now wrapped around hers. It was all she could do not to groan at the sensations, to whisper his name in return and give in.

She hated him with a passion. Hated the way he pushed her back towards his bed so casually, as if it was guaranteed she would stay with him until the morning, as if there was no way she could refuse him. Hated the way he naturally assumed that she was his, the way he pulled her in again and again with no thought for consequence.

Damn him.

Damn him and his ludicrous hair. Damn him and his chiselled body. Damn his confidence and ignorance of everything that could tear them apart. Damn him for the way his body felt on hers, the way his weight pressed her into the sheets, the way his wandering hands sparked a fire in her belly.

Damn his mouth for having as much knowledge of how her body curved as his eyes and hands. Damn his hips for creating that heady, oh-so-predictable rocking against her own, tearing rationality away until she found she couldn't think, didn't want to think.

She didn't want to know how he managed to remove her clothing within seconds, let alone how he managed to remove his own without her noticing his slackened grip. She didn't want to know anything but the way he was moving across her body, lips, tongue and teeth exploring every inch of her he could reach.

She didn't want to try and comprehend why he was doing this to her, let alone why she was letting him. But his mouth on her bare skin was overpowering the hate she felt towards him for having this control over her and the way his breath rolled across her in short, hot waves consumed any idea of pushing him away,

The way her name tore from his throat left her breathless and arching as he moved against the flow of her undulating hips, creating a friction that left her craving more.

The feeling of his hands in her hair, his weight crushing her to the mattress, the burning of his gaze and the searing of his flesh against her own as he moved within her were becoming too much, and she found herself choking out his name, scarcely able to pronounce it properly as her body coiled around him.

She hated him. Oh god she hated him. The way he stripped away all her barriers, the way he smashed her control. Hated the way he collapsed against her, pulse racing in time with her own, breathing just as irregular, body just as weak.

She hated the way he held her close as if it wouldn't be different in the morning, as if nothing in the world could tear their bodies apart.

She hated how she couldn't imagine a life without this, without him. Hated the way she needed to feel his warmth, needed to hear her name from his lips, needed to have his hands gliding over her bare skin, needed to have him inside her.

But most of all, she hated the way she loved him.

Please review, and let me know what you think!