A.N.: I don't write smut for these two often, which is weird because they're my biggest otp and I love them forever. I guess I'm more into fluff when it comes to them.

Hope you enjoy reading as much as I enjoyed writing this.

"I wanted to try something," she says, not quite meeting his gaze. "But I need to know if you're okay with it."

As far as these things go, he is not entirely well versed in the specifics. This part of their life has always been about simplicity, the spur of the moment, what felt most right at this moment, differing only so much the next. They have learned one another in this way, sparing very little thought to what fell outside of this circle they have allowed themselves to settle into. And, in all honesty, he hadn't very well felt the need to step outside of it. Until this point, it has gotten them to where they need to go—as physical as Ichigo tends to be, the appeal had never truly lied in the sex; the moments thereafter, in which they basked in the aftermath, in which she skimmed her fingertips across his cheekbone, in which her lashes fluttered and her mouth curved toward smile, that is, he thinks, the thing that draws him most. What keeps him coming back to it.

If it works, it works. He'd think.

But she's looking at him now, eyes tightened at the edges with uncertainty. She's wearing this yellow blouse with this small white ribbon at the collar, this muted skirt, these sheer and pale stockings. She has allowed her hair to fall down past her shoulders, over the pink tips of her ears. She has coated her full lips in gloss and he catches the faintest traces of that perfume they both know he likes. It is sweet and airy and it reminds him of flowers, opening up under the sun. He swallows, and her face is coloring with embarrassment.

"We—I… Forget I said anything," she hurries to say, reaching up to tug her hair along her soft cheek. "I was being rash."

"You didn't actually say anything," he points out, sitting down on the edge of their bed. "Spit it out, I won't judge you."

She glances furtively toward her side of the bed, fingers wringing at her lap. "I… Well, we've been together a while now, and. I…I really like how things are, a lot. I really do. You're—you're amazing, but—and this, this isn't about how you're like in bed! Honest! I like how you're like in bed, I really, really do, but—but I… I've always been curious about… I've always wanted to try…"

His mind is reeling, unsure of where she's going with this and truthfully afraid of that. Had he done something wrong? She'd made it known what she wanted to do today but she hadn't made it known what she wanted to do today and that kinda makes sense, that kinda sets apart the situation. Maybe he had been misled. Maybe he had just assumed, maybe something has dulled about him and he can't read her the way he used to. And how funny it is to think that, they have only been together a few years. Can two people grow out of touch so easy?

She's staring at the floor with far too much interest.

"I… I'm," he struggles, wondering if maybe there's a way to fix whatever he had somehow managed to get wrong. "I'm up for anything."

She perks up, eyes searching his. "Really?"

"Anything." He scratches behind his ear. "Whatever you want."

She brightens up all over. "O – Okay! Then, then can… Can I…?"

"Anything you want, Orihime," he affirms, pressing his hand gently over hers.

A few beats, in which she appears to be gathering her wits, and then, "Please take off your shirt."

He only hesitates for a second. This isn't exactly out of the ordinary, he's not sure what he was expecting. He shifts away to take the hem of his shirt.

"Wait, ah… Stand up, and. Then do it."

He feels somewhat displaced, both entirely in his comfort zone and somehow not. Perhaps this uncertainty, tainting all else. He rises to his feet and tugs his shirt over his head, frees his arms and wonders why his heart is pounding so hard. He has been naked before her countless times, she has seen every glaring inch of him there is to be seen. She has traced every scar faint on his skin, and she has kissed them end to end. The air touches the skin of his neck, and his shoulders, and his back, and his chest, and he keeps swallowing dry.

She is staring at his chest, this oddly indecipherable look in her eyes. She straightens her back and steadies her nerves, tells him, "Come here… Please."

How strange, he can't pick apart his own thoughts. Why is he so nervous?

Her fingers feather over his abdomen, this barely-there touch skimming across his navel, his happy trail. Her lashes flutter in that way, and suddenly her eyes are on him. "Lie on the bed," she says, breathily. "If you wouldn't mind."

And why would he? The mattress sinks under his weight, and all of these pillows furl around his head comfortably. There is nothing strange about any of this. It shouldn't be.

She is rifling through her nightstand, when she joins him on the mattress he has managed to soothe his pounding heart to simple disquiet. A quick little stutter.

"Oh, I," he mumbles, rubbing the heel of his hand over his eye. "I think I forgot to turn the stove off."

"You didn't," she assures, smoothing down his hair. "Could you give me your hands?"

"Yea—what," he jolts, holding very still.

This pastel pink ribbon, silken and familiar. She has used it before to dress her ponytails with immaculate bows, to adorn her braided buns with a sugary touch. She wraps it close around his wrists and tops it off with a quick and impressive knot. He only tests it briefly, brows raised and jaw slack and breath short and—

"Orihime?" His voice sounds small, confused. So far out of his element he doesn't know what to do with himself.

Her face is as red as his, he's sure. "I wanted to try it out… I—I wanna be in control today, Ichigo."

.x.

It's not as if Ichigo is dominant, exactly. The first time they had sex she pulled him over her and for a while this had been their routine. But he supposes of the two he had always been expected to take the lead, no matter how equally inexperienced they both had been to begin with. He had never noticed them falling into the mundane, these things come to him slow.

But this is, he thinks, a most refreshing change.

She guides his arms over his head and tells him, "Like this. I – I want you like this."

His heart keeps trying to jump up out his throat.

She sits beside him and pulls her blouse over her head, folds it meticulously and places it on her nightstand. He does not recognize this bra, this sweet pink that matches the ribbon about his wrists almost exactly. It is lined with white lace, and it holds her ample breasts beautifully. It's a strange thought, but he immediately knows this will become her new favorite. She rises onto her knees to shimmy out of her skirt, folds onto the nightstand. The panties match, and it is now he realizes these stockings are different. These white garters, overlapping her underwear. The tops her thighs swell over the stockings, and the band pinches at her full hips.

She looks lovely.

"I – I want you to hold still," she says, tucking her hair behind her ear. "Stay just like that."

The weight of their situation does not fully dawn on him until she is trailing her hands down his sides, until she is tugging at the buckle of his belt. He holds his breath, and suddenly the air feels too cold and too thick against his own skin. Something settles strange in his belly and in the seconds before she works open the buttons of his jeans he has the sudden urge to bolt. Her hands, though, they press down on his hips and hold him place. He catches the little swipe of her tongue, over her upper lip. Her fingers curl around the waistband of his jeans, she only pauses to hold his gaze.

"I need to know you're okay with this," she tells him, and he can feel her smooth knuckles against his skin. They brush over his hipbones and a shudder passes through him. "I won't make you do anything you don't want to, Ichigo."

"Yeah, uh," he mumbles, shifting his weight. "This is… This is okay."

"Do you want it?"

His face is on fire, she leans down to kiss beneath his bellybutton, the sliver of skin the buttons of his jeans part away from, the space just above his underwear. Her tongue flickers so very briefly, he almost hardly feels it.

But that, and the warm puff of breath she allows out from her, is enough to floor him. His head is swimming, the room spins for a moment and he's already half hard. This will surely be too much for him, he can feel his toes curling just from the look she's giving him. Those warm honey eyes, quietly waiting for his response.

"Yes," he breathes, and when she doesn't move he feels the air rush out from him impatiently. "Yes, I – I want it."

The smile she gives is pleased, the edges of her eyes crease just a little. "Okay."

.x.

He lifts his hips as she tug his jeans down, they only make it mid-thigh before she switches tasks. The cool air washes over the exposed skin, the moment he wants to take to adjust her small, soft hand wraps around his growing erection and a whine breaks past his teeth. His wrists strain against the ribbon for a second before he reminds himself to relax. Short, shallow breaths he tries and fails to even out.

Her thumb circles over, caresses the sensitive skin near the head. She eases her hand down to the base, squeezes delicately, and then twists her grip as she strokes upward. He groans, and she quickly releases him.

"Did – Did I," he stumbles over to ask. "Did I do something wrong?"

She's settling near his legs, touching his thigh briefly. "Of course not," she reassures, and comes forward to kiss his hip. "You're doing just fine."

Her fingertips press against his shaft, she curls them inward until her nails meet flesh. So very light, she drags them toward the tip. It's weird, splits panic down to his gut and sends tiny shocks out toward his limbs. He gasps soundlessly, and his knee raises of the bed just a little. She licks her lips again, correcting her grip to stroke him a few times.

"Hold very still," she instructs, and he nods quickly.

She leans down, her long hair sweeping across her shoulder and along his upper thighs, and places a soft kiss at the head. Her tongue swipes out across the slit, her hand squeezes around him again, and Ichigo can't breathe all of a sudden. She opens her mouth and takes him just past the head, but any further and he stutters a hurried protest. Any further, she'd choke and gag. They know this, they've learned it the hard way.

She spends a second longer than he's morally comfortable with working him into her mouth, and then lifts out with a pop. He sinks back into the pillows with a sigh, but tenses right back up when she immediately starts to suck along the shaft. Her tongue trails up the underside, passing kisses in between at his head, and then the base, and then the head, again—her hand pumps, coating him thoroughly in saliva, hardly cooling before she opens her mouth against the skin once more.

He squeezes his eyes shut, the heels of his feet digging into the mattress, knees falling apart. "I– I'm, um," he struggles to say, mouth wet. Teeth clicking. Blunt nails digging into the palms of his hands.

She pinches the skin of his thigh. She kisses the head of his cock.

And then retracts entirely.

"Not yet," she says, breathless. Wiping her mouth with her arm.

"Okay," he whispers, and then snaps his mouth shut when she crawls up toward him. She cups his face with one hand, leaning down to mold their mouths together. She's never kissed him after giving him oral before, he is for a second unsure how to response. Frozen. Her tongue presses against his lower lip and instinctively, he unlocks his jaw and allows her access. He can taste himself, still caught in the crevices. He hums and tilts his head when she does, casting aside his trepidation. When she pulls back again, she gently nips at his lip for good measure.

"My turn," she says, holding his gaze.

He doesn't quite catch her drift, mindlessly nodding and then holding as still as possible when she suddenly pushes herself up to her feet. She takes a deep breath, and then hooks her thumbs under the waistband of her panties, right at her hips. She shimmies as she pushes them down, her knees curving together as they slide along her soft thighs. The fall at her ankles, and she bends to collect and then toss them toward her nightstand. His mind is still racing to make sense of this when she settles her feet on either side of him.

She supports herself on the headboard, lowering down until her knees frame his head.

It all clicks together instantly. "Oh."

She jolts a little, her other hand coming up to curl around the top of the headboard. "Is – Is this okay? It's only if you want to—"

"Anything you want," he says, fingers twitching impulsively.

He sees her cover her mouth for a moment. She's embarrassed.

Waiting until her nerves are settled, she shifts forward and takes a handful of his hair in one hand. His arms are pinned, it borders discomfort, but when his tongue first feathers out to taste her this soft moan escapes her and nothing else matters. He angles his head to seek out her clit, kissing and then sucking the skin around it carefully. She releases his hair for a moment, hesitates, and then reaches down to part her folds for him. He eagerly slides his tongue between them, shuts his eyes as she squeaks and gasps sharply.

Her hand finds his hair again.

She cuts things short quicker than he anticipates. He is tracing the walls of her when she circles her hips, forming a fist and guiding his head back as she shifts away. Again, supporting herself on the headboard, she half stands and then sits herself down on his chest. She is struggling to compose herself, one hand braced behind her on his abdomen and the other curled near her mouth. Her chest is heaving slightly, her thighs shaking; between them, she is pink and swollen.

Every bit as aroused as he is.

"Was that okay?" he asks. He's never so badly wanted to touch her.

"Yes," she replies shortly, tucking her hair back behind her ear. "Do we have any more condoms?"

.x.

This has to be the worst part.

She flattens a hand on his chest as she sinks down onto his cock, full hips rolling accepting him. Her lashes flutter prettily and her mouth opens wordlessly, her other fingers pulling across his skin at every pause she has to make. There was once they did this with no protection at all, the ridges had caught and slid across the silken walls of her, and every pulse of her around him had had his eyes rolling back. It was risky and scary and it hadn't lasted long at all.

She settles there for a moment, knees open on either side of him, and then reaches up sweep her hair behind her shoulders. Her eyes find his, and her gaze turns thoughtful. "Should I have worn black?" she asks, and he glances quickly at her bra, the garter, her high stockings.

"It looks nice on you," he says, swallowing thickly. "Black would, too, but… This is…really good."

She tucks her fingers under the straps and adjusts them on her shoulders with a tiny snap. "I wanted to match with you," she says with a smile, and he can't help returning it. "I'm gonna start now, okay?"

"Okay."

Her hands brace on his chest, leaning forward so she can rock her hips comfortably. Gradual, this slow and rolling pace. Her eyes fall shut for a moment, this trembling sigh filling the space between them. A section of hair slips over, grazes his skin lightly. He misses a beat, drives upward just a little faster than he means to, and her teeth press on her lower lip.

She holds his gaze a second longer than usual, before taking his chin in one hand delicately.

"Hold still," she tells him, leaning back to brace one hand on his thigh.

"O – Okay."

She rises up until he's only half inside, angles her hips, and then snaps back down quickly. Twice, three times, on the fourth he lets out a breath and bucks upward. To his dismay, she removes her hand from his thigh and presses it down on his hip, keeping him in place as she holds herself over him.

She doesn't break eye contact, brow furrowed.

"Ichigo," she asserts, squeezing his hip gently. "Hold still."

He sighs shakily. "Sorry."

She leans forward, on her knees, and curls a hand over the headboard. Her pace becomes slightly forceful, the sound between them sharp and crisp. Her hair tickles him, and he can't stop staring at her breasts, but he does as she says. Toes curling, fists clenching, teeth gritting tight as he resists the urge to touch her, and to move with her. To participate.

He doesn't want to question her. So far, this experience hasn't altogether been a bad one. At all. He likes the change in pace, the change of hands. Everything is painted different like this, it's like he's looking at things under a different light. Warm, rose-colored. Spotted in gold. His mouth is wet and his heart is pounding and he likes this. More than he thought he could. Her eyes are dark and full and glassy, face flushed, lips parted over his name. She's never taken this much control before. She's never been so focused on herself.

She arches back again, small hand cupping her own breast. She rocks forward a couple times, sliding her palm across her soft belly. He's chewing hard on his lip, forgetting himself for just a moment.

It comes rushing back when she suddenly pushes her hand down on his joined wrists, mouth on his. Eyes locked, the heat of her closing in around him.

"Do I have to tell you again?" she asks, and he can't find his voice. She sounds so sweet, so warm and inviting. "Or would you like me to tie you to the bed, too?"

He can't see straight. "I—Orihime," he whispers. He feels like he's melting, heartbeat stuttering against his ribs. "Please."

She kisses the corner of his mouth, so very lightly. "Hold still, my love," she breathes, her thumb sliding over his cheek fondly. "It's all I ask."

His heart swells, this strangely blissful rush scattering across his skin. Leaving behind goosebumps, hair standing on end. "Okay."

She doesn't remove her hand from his wrists, snaking the other between them to glide her fingers over her clit. She settles her weight almost entirely on her knees, rising and then sinking until she can set an even pace. A quick bounce on his cock. Her eyes fall shut and her mouth opens on a moan, a shudder passing through her when he mumbles her name. Her brow furrows, if he doesn't interrupt her now, she'll be able to finish easily.

So this has to be the worst part.

Every fiber of his being is clambering to just touch her, he just wants to feel her skin. He just wants to comb his fingers through her hair, kiss the full swells of her breasts, to pull her close until their skin is burning. It takes every ounce of effort he has just to not move, fingers gripping tight around the wooden notches in the headboard. He grunts and groans and doesn't realize he's biting too hard on his lip until he tastes blood, skin hot and pulsing. He can feel her quivering around him, she's not so far off anymore.

Her brow furrows and her pace falters, voice straining higher.

"C – Can I kiss you?" he asks, and she nearly loses her momentum. She grabs his face frantically, teeth clicking as their mouths connect. It's sloppy and loud, broken up in her hurry to finish. She takes his lip in her mouth and sucks very gently, sliding her hand down his chest. The ribbon digs into his skin, he breathes a whine into her kiss.

Her eyes search his face, pausing to trace her thumbs under his eyes. "I don't want you to be still anymore."

One hand on his chest, she rises up along his length. When she drops this time, he meets her halfway. It's sweet relief, to be able to join her like this. Her eyes squeeze shut and her fingers curl into his hair. He can feel this trickle along his thigh, the slap of their skin sharp and slick. When she comes down too hard, he grinds up into her until she rises the next time. He takes what he can get. If he angles his hips just right, he'll get that spot he sometimes finds.

From the way her voice hitches and her nails scrape over his scalp, he figures he has.

His throat grows dry, her fingers tuck under her bra cup to roll her nipple. She's throbbing around him and he doesn't know how much longer he can last. He steadies his hands against the headboard, rocking upward in time with her. She's never been entirely fond of surprises during sex. Consistency, if he just keeps up her pace she'll reach her peak in no time. The need to go faster pours out into him but he swallows it back down, choking out a groan when she pinches her nipple. And here, she's losing rhythm again, entirely focused on finishing. She meets him too quick, or too hard, and he can't bring himself to care about his own. He just wants her to make it there.

"Oh," she moans, biting her knuckles. He can't hold her in place, he'll keep missing that little spot she likes. He just hopes he can get enough damage to bring her across that line. "Ichi—Ichigo—"

"Please," he gets out, winded. Her eyes are hazy, unfocused. "Please, Orihime."

Her hands snap toward his shoulders for support, he feels her soft belly slide hot against his. He pushes and pushes until he's wholly enveloped by her, hardly pulling out before he's thrusts back in again. His muscles burn, he knows his wrists will be bruised by tomorrow. It all washes away, overcome by her long, trilling moan. The hard shudder of her body. She locks up for a moment, and he struggles to do the same. Gyrating, rolling his hips until the pressure cracks apart in his middle.

And then all the tension is leaving his body, this heavy sigh rushing out as she folds forward into him. Face tucked against his throat as they catch their breath.

When he comes back to himself, she's combing her fingers through his hair.

It is a few moments before she pulls back to look at his face, eyes wide and wondering. She leans in, kisses the end of his mouth tenderly.

"Thank you," she says, this warm smile tugging at her lips. "You're so good to me."

Oh. His favorite part.

His heart feels like flying. He's made her happy again.

"Don't mention it," he tries and fails to brush off. His voice sounds unsteady.

Her smile softens, and then she blinks. "Oh! Your wrists must hurt!" She quickly extracts herself from him to loosen the knot.

"Oh, no," he assures, although as soon as she rubs her cool fingers around the aching flesh he feels himself hum in appreciation. He rolls his shoulders, bringing his hands down watch as he flexes them open and shut repeatedly. "It's not that bad."

She frets, touching lightly at the irritated red marks at his wrists. "I – I can heal those!"

He considers this, sitting up to trace the spotted edges. The indentations of where her ribbon had dug itself into him. He scratches lightly, and the ache, he thinks, is a welcome reminder. "No, I… I wanna keep them."

She blinks, hesitating.

"I do," he assures, and reaches out to touch the tuck of her waist. The soft swell of her belly. The line of her cleavage, the delicate column of her throat. "I really do."

.x.

He kisses her shoulder.

"Do you think we can do that again some time?" he asks, as she's tugging her panties back on. She wants to wear the little outfit just a little longer. She likes the way it fits her, how it makes her legs look longer. When she pulls his hand to her knee for him to touch, he immediately complies.

"Did you like it?"

"Yes," he says, tracing the garter. "Very much."

Her face is as red as his. "Okay."

.x.

A.N.: My headcanon is that Ichigo is a sub. Just. In all honesty.