The Romance of a Withered Flower

Disclaimer: I do not own Bleach. Some lines of speech were cited from one of the latest manga chapters according to the date of when this One Shot was released.

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"What's wrong? That's a rather pained face you're making. You should smile…for a darkened sun will only bring sadness."

Such a pungent and provocative moment was never to be swallowed loosely in the back of her mind. The sting was still there. The physical stringency. She could fell the soft pressure of his warm breath, (so human), pouting like a gentle, fading ocean tide against her softly rounded lips. Compelling.

His grace was a marvel that she'd always distanced her amazement from. Yet, when he'd appeared in front of her, lifting his arm in a gentleness that suggested he'd never killed a day in his life, smoothing his soft thumb slowly over her bottom lip, fingers weightlessly cupping her chin, lowering his head so that only a thin wall of air separated the unity of their lips…

Endearing…and yet…

They were dead.

The sheer possibility that a smile could induce tears was absurd. And yet, when the little muscles that operated the corners of her mouth lifted, she felt her eyes burn and tighten like lemon flesh.

The dimples built into the creamy flesh upon his cheeks became more pronounced. She knew then, undoubtedly, that he was smiling.

"Orihime…this does not bode well with me." His voice was gentle, caressing, like the soft murmur of a concerned, yet confident lover; confident that everything would fade into place in the end. "Tell me. What can I do to make this more pleasant for you? Shall I hold a funeral at your consent?"

And with these words came the deepest promotion of helplessness. He would touch her, yet he would not touch her. His ode possessed the intensity of a threat; his motions, his words, his promises did nothing to dictate the playful mockery which shone so profusely in his translucent eyes. He pretended that he wanted her to be happy. Yet, affecting shyness, he would peel away the waxy and protective layers from her rose petals, and allow them to melt in the palm of his hands. He let his fingers bleed upon her thorns. He let the pricks breed her virulent infection. He wanted to feel her pain simply because…he himself was too superior, and he lacked that mandatory nerve to feel pain…and the thought of controlling such a sensitive emotion and physicality was utterly entertaining…and that was why he killed them. Every. Single. One.

So who did she have? No one but him. So to whom would she turn? Him. To whom would she desire affection from? Him. It was only a matter of time. You could only romance a withering flower for so long before it began to bow towards the earth. She was as breakable as a porcelain doll, and equally as appealing.

"You just smile…and wait here for a while."

…his lips fell softly over the plump flesh her of her bottom lip in the form of one-sided kiss…and Oh…What a silken, tenderly sweet morsel it was; a thorough indulgence of the highest sensation…

Flowers shed tears nocturnally. He wondered vaguely, when he returned to her in the morning, if she would awaken with dew droplets on her cheeks.

You belong to Aizen-sama.

"You belong to me, Orihime." He said solemnly while pulling away, his eyes burning into hers. "You belong to Las Noches."

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A/N: Ta-Da the end, in all my Aizen fangirl gloriness. Not that I love evil, manipulative, psychologically abusive men or anything…-cough- This is the first one shot I've written in about two years. Please R&R!