title. and he said
summary. she is a dreamer, she dreams but all she sees is the dark, thus, he makes it real for her, he makes her see everything but the dark.
rating. M
note. a companion piece to a chocolate mock tale: after echoes.

disclaimer. applied.
warning! mature content. if you feel uncomfortable, i'm very sorry, please do not continue reading.

And they live happily ever after.

—

And she comes in a rush, in a flood. She shakes, and she feels like a star or a supernova as she ignites, as she explodes. Shattering, breaking, and at the same filling up with him, Orihime gasps his name breathlessly, her small hands clinging to his body.

And he comes in a rush, in a flood. He fills her, and feels her overflow. His teeth cling to the skin of her bare shoulder, muffling the low sounds from his throat. With a strong arm around her thin waist, Ichigo lifts her off the sheets, crushing her body to his muscles, effectively burrowing himself deeper inside her. Their bodies shake as one as his violent orgasm leaves him breathless, aching and hungry for more.

—

Damp breaths fill the room, warming the night.

He lets her body touch the sheets, and later, his whole weight falls on her. It is warm, despite his crushing heaviness. Between her legs, she is warm and wet, soaked and tingling.

"…Orihime," he whispers in a low, scratchy voice that scrapes her skin.

She tries not to shiver.

Slowly, carefully, he moves above her, transferring his weight to his forearms which he places above her shoulders, on either side of her head so as not to crush her further. And then, he lifts his head from her neck, and she knows he is looking at her now.

She closes her eyes, hiding from reality, hiding in her dreams where he loves her, where she is free, where her fantasies are reality.

After all, she is a dreamer.

She likes her fantasies more.

But… this reality isn't that bad, isn't that sad.

She likes her realities too. Ichigo is a reality.

He is real.

But she is a dreamer.

And she is hopeful.

She is wishful.

She is Orihime where dreams and realities are one. She dreams, she hides, she lives in a place where everything is about Ichigo and Orihime, and their love affair, and their love story, and their happy ever after.

"I'm sorry," he says, he whispers. And her lips tingle at the touch of his warm breath. But inside, her heart falls away, disappearing to melt away with her dreams.

She knows he is watching her. She feels it, the weight of his piercing stare. Her eyes shut tighter. She likes her dreams. She likes them alone. He does not have to know that she dreams while he fucks her in reality.

—

She is not responding. He frowns.

"I'm sorry. Are you–"

"It's okay," she whispers, and her eyes open slowly, long lashes lift, revealing honey-colored eyes.

He tries not to fall – fall into those eyes.

So brown, so large, so deep.

But he falls. He drowns.

He feels her heart skip as their gazes lock. And he wants to capture that look in her eyes, so seductive, so beautiful in their obvious exhaustion.

With flushed cheeks, blushing body, tousled red-orange hair all over her face and shoulders, she looks like a fallen supernova.

A heavenly body.

He watches as her mouth opens and closes. Her tongue, which he enjoys sucking into his mouth, slides out to wet her swollen lips. And then, those lips smile.

"I understand." She pauses to lick her lips again. "Ichigo."

There is something about the way she says his name. His brow furrows, confused. He wants to ask, what? But he is not a speaker, he acts on his words. And so, he runs one large hand – the hand that carries the weight of her world, which becomes his world – over the long, thick strands of red-orange hair. His skin tingles in anticipation as she reaches up with one fragile hand, so small, so fragile.

So small and yet this hand holds up somebody's life.

"I know…" Her hand cups his cheek, a thumb rubbing his cheekbone. "Y-You don't have feelings for me." He feels something rise in his chest, and his eyes slightly widen. "Well, you do, but…" She pauses, looking thoughtful, and then she shakes her head. "Please, don't apologize. It's okay."

And she smiles.

It is a sad smile, but beautiful in its tranquility and understanding. It is small, the corner lifts higher than the other; nevertheless, it is beautiful, it is sad, and her bright eyes are brighter, like stars, supernovas–

And he realizes she is most beautiful when she is sad.

It is painful to look at, that smile. But it is beautiful, that smile.

"Ichigo."

Her voice reverberates inside his head.

"I understand–"

No, you don't.

—

He startles her when he takes her hand from his face and slams it down to the bed, above her head.

—

Her eyes widen as Ichigo grabs her wrist and traps it above her head.

"What the hell are you talking about?"

His rough, angry tone surprises her. She swallows hard. "Ichi–"

"What kind of man do you think I am? Doing this–"

She is amazed that he does not say 'fucking'.

"—doing it with you… What? You think I'm doing you just for the hell of it?"

Confused, she blinks at him, opening her mouth to reply, even though she does not know what to say. "I–"

A gasp escapes her as he slams his lips on hers and forcefully takes her mouth, kissing her with tongue, teeth and force. His other hand grabs the back of her head as he deepens the kiss, his lips moving against hers with frantic, almost violent need. With a soft whimper, she opens her mouth wider, making him groan. She kisses back, but he dominates her, consuming her. His hand leaves the back of her head to wrap itself around her waist. One knee shoves her legs apart, and with one hard thrust, he is inside her,

again

his whole length sinking into her wet, silky heat.

She arches her back, and trembles. Her legs are boneless under his weight, wide open as he moves in and out of her. His arm around her waist lifts her

up and down, up and down, up and down

in increments to meet his every pelvic thrust.

Several thrusts later, she comes, but he does not stop. He releases her swollen lips, and pants in her face, gritting his teeth as he takes her again

and again

again

taking her like an animal.

"I… Ichi… Ichigo–" Her legs slowly lift off the bed to wrap around him. She feels his hand cup her bottom, directing the speed of her hips as he continues to rock into her. She is shivering at the intensity – this is, so far, the roughest sex she has received from him, and honestly, she is enjoying it.

Her head falls back at a particular deep thrust. Her free hand flies and clutches at his hair, her teeth biting down on her lower lip to suppress her cries. Her back rubs hard – and harder – against the sweat-soaked sheets as their bodies move and rock.

Orange hair mingles with red-orange. His hard hands grip her white skin.

She moans and thrashes, but his weight is heavy, and his presence inside her is overwhelming.

"Orihime."

The pleasure increases at the sound of his voice, sending tingles down her spine as he chews on her earlobe.

"Look at me."

She refuses

because she is a dreamer and she tells herself, reminds herself – this is just sex, nothing more – but she is dreamer and she tells herself – he loves me, he is in love with me and–

and keeps her eyes closed, her face to the side.

"Look at me."

"No," she whispers, breathless. "No… No, Kurosaki-kun–"

He pulls out completely and slams back in.

She screams, and her eyes snap open. At the same time, he twists her face around so that she is facing him.

Their eyes meet.

And he whispers, his mouth moving, but no words are coming out, yet, he continues to whisper

and whisper, and whisper those words, those

words, his words

at his every thrust, soundless, but the words reach out to her, making her remember, waking her up from her dreams.

She feels her already huge heart swell with emotions. Tears fill her eyes, making them shine brighter, brighter, brighter than ever. They spill and fall over her cheeks, and through the mist, she sees him smile.

Her mouth opens to reply, but he continues to pound into her, breaking her, filling her up, forcing her to open, to surrender, and to– Her legs tighten around him, her neck arches.

Those heartbreakingly familiar words, heartbreakingly familiar confessions.

And she shatters, shatters, shatters.

—

And while she does, and while he holds her, he fills the spaces between her fingers with his longer, more powerful fingers, clasping their hands together above her head. He lifts his head and watches her pretty face, watches her eyes flare and brighten as they lose focus.

He likes her bright eyes. Especially when she comes.

She is coming again.

And she does. She opens her mouth to cry out, but he kisses her and her cry echoes inside his mouth.

He does not stop.

He can't.

Fuck.

He can't.

And she keeps coming. Her thin body is strong, deceptively strong, but at the force of her orgasm, he fears that she might break into halves.

So he holds her closer.

"I… Ichi… Ichigo…" she whispers against his lips breathlessly, trembling. He grunts as a reply and continues to move. He bites at her jaw and suckles a skin into his mouth until it is raw and red. The hand on her buttocks lifts to grab the back of her thigh. With ease, he lifts her leg and presses it to his hips. He tilts her hips back and the angle of his penetration is deeper, so deep that she groans at the change of position and the increase in depth. His hand leaves hers to grip her hip, tilting her back until her waist is off the bed.

His name on her lips is like a prayer, a mantra as he rides her. He wants to be gentle, but he wants her to feel him. He wants her to stop dreaming. He wants her to stop fantasizing.

Fucking her hard will make her realize that everything is real.

He is real and he–

Her eyes pierce him, and his eyes flare and darken.

"Stop daydreaming," he growls, and slams in.

She cries out, writhing.

"This is real."

"Ichi…" she pants.

"It's not a dream and I–"

"I love you," she whispers in a stronger, clearer voice. It does not echo. It is clear, and it sounds like falling water that never touches the ground.

It is pure.

He cups her face, and his hand slides down between her breasts, then, cups one large breast. Still thrusting into her, he bends down and kisses her sternum. Her heart races under his lips, and the corner of his mouth lifts. Her hand buries itself in his hair and as he raise his head to look at her, her small hand lowers to his cheek, and he was rewarded with a smile.

It is not sad, but still beautiful, and he changes his previous opinion: she is most beautiful when she is happy, she is most beautiful when she does not dream.

And as she convulses around him, and he trembles inside her, he lets her scream. And this time, when she cries her beautiful tears, it is not because of adulterated ecstasy.

—

Orihime smiles, and whispers, "I'm sorry."

Ichigo grunts, and holds her face. "Yeah."

—

She's been too unrealistic – she has dreamed too much to recognize the reality.

—

And it begins.