[Fic] The Scent of Flowers
Mar. 21st, 2005 10:54 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
moonsheenI live! Sort of! Not for long, as I am posting this from ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
chirachira's and I feel I must relay the fact that she, despite whatever she may say contary, is indeed the cutest person alive and I'm totally going to run for my life once I finish this entry. :DDD
Oh yes. And I have the best girlfriend ever. Just feel I should say!
At any rate. Because I am obligated to write a morning after fic for every single series I get into (except, as Chira points out, Fullmetal Alchemist, which was just a morning sex fic. Oops.) have the obligatory Bleach morning after fic. Not starring the usual suspects, I might add.
No spoilers for anything. Though people who are current in the manga will probably want to kill me right now.
The scent is not flowers, exactly.
She nearly thinks it is though. When she wakes up she smells it in the air, in the pillow, in the hair falling in her face. It’s good. Her fingers curl in the sheets with compulsive giddiness. It’s good. It’s very good. She smiles for the thickness of it. She doesn’t exactly know why. But when she glides her limbs into a lazy stretch and turns her cheek from the pleasant rasp of the cloth, she realizes no. no. not flowers. Not exactly. There’s something heavier with it. Tea and lamps and sweaty sheets and…
She blushes. Oh.
She hasn’t woken up where she thought she would.
She squirms around to look the other way.
Oh.
He is sitting at his desk, hand resting near to the wooden clock (pock, pock, pock it’s morning. she’s not sure what other time she expected it to be but it’s morning), and the potted fern (there for temporary counseling, he explained, it hadn’t been coping well where it had been hanging). There are some papers caught beneath it. There is an ink smear on the pad of his thumb. He is wearing a striped yukata and he is looking back at her. She ducks away from his sight, pressing her nose into the blankets.
The scent there is strong and immediate and nearly nothing of flowers at all. It does nothing to keep her cheeks from burning and thinking oh, no. no no no. he is going to ask me to leave.
“Tea?”
She peeks out. “…Um. Yes?”
He sets the cup down beside her. She takes it. It’s warm and smooth in her mouth and throat and stomach and she sips it messily as she shuffles herself up; tucking her knees near her chest and tugging at the blankets clumsily. He looks amused, albeit gently so. She turns her attention into her drink and hears him stand to pour another cup for himself.
She is on his bedroll. She is sitting on his bedroll in his quarters. There is sun making the room glow a bit. She has never done this before. She doesn’t know if she’ll do this again.
“…is it okay?” she asks, when his hand settles on her head.
His thumb pauses over her eyelid. “Mm?”
“I mean,” she says. “This,” she says. She presses her knees together, looking at them. “I…” she says, looking up at him.
He’s paused with his lips formed around questioning. He presses them back together in a smile. “Ah. Hm.” His jaw works in animated consideration. “Do you feel this is inappropriate?”
“No?”
His fingers ruffle her hair. “…Do you feel you’ve acted inappropriately?”
She can’t help but smile. “No.”
His eyebrows rise. “Well, then.”
There is a strong scent in his palm when she presses her lips into it. She finds she likes it, whatever it is.
(There were long shadows on the floors, on the walls, on everything. She’d pressed her head to the back of his shoulder. He’d been sitting, she’d been standing, and she’d been completely in her right mind. She simply hadn’t expected the distance so easily cleared. Nor, when she spoke, had she expected her own voice to sound so level.
“Captain,” she had said, calm but not breathing. “Please do not send me away.”
“Hinamori,” he’d replied and for a moment, because she hadn’t been able to see his face, she’d been afraid. “I would never dream of it.”)
chirachira's and I feel I must relay the fact that she, despite whatever she may say contary, is indeed the cutest person alive and I'm totally going to run for my life once I finish this entry. :DDDOh yes. And I have the best girlfriend ever. Just feel I should say!
At any rate. Because I am obligated to write a morning after fic for every single series I get into (except, as Chira points out, Fullmetal Alchemist, which was just a morning sex fic. Oops.) have the obligatory Bleach morning after fic. Not starring the usual suspects, I might add.
No spoilers for anything. Though people who are current in the manga will probably want to kill me right now.
The scent is not flowers, exactly.
She nearly thinks it is though. When she wakes up she smells it in the air, in the pillow, in the hair falling in her face. It’s good. Her fingers curl in the sheets with compulsive giddiness. It’s good. It’s very good. She smiles for the thickness of it. She doesn’t exactly know why. But when she glides her limbs into a lazy stretch and turns her cheek from the pleasant rasp of the cloth, she realizes no. no. not flowers. Not exactly. There’s something heavier with it. Tea and lamps and sweaty sheets and…
She blushes. Oh.
She hasn’t woken up where she thought she would.
She squirms around to look the other way.
Oh.
He is sitting at his desk, hand resting near to the wooden clock (pock, pock, pock it’s morning. she’s not sure what other time she expected it to be but it’s morning), and the potted fern (there for temporary counseling, he explained, it hadn’t been coping well where it had been hanging). There are some papers caught beneath it. There is an ink smear on the pad of his thumb. He is wearing a striped yukata and he is looking back at her. She ducks away from his sight, pressing her nose into the blankets.
The scent there is strong and immediate and nearly nothing of flowers at all. It does nothing to keep her cheeks from burning and thinking oh, no. no no no. he is going to ask me to leave.
“Tea?”
She peeks out. “…Um. Yes?”
He sets the cup down beside her. She takes it. It’s warm and smooth in her mouth and throat and stomach and she sips it messily as she shuffles herself up; tucking her knees near her chest and tugging at the blankets clumsily. He looks amused, albeit gently so. She turns her attention into her drink and hears him stand to pour another cup for himself.
She is on his bedroll. She is sitting on his bedroll in his quarters. There is sun making the room glow a bit. She has never done this before. She doesn’t know if she’ll do this again.
“…is it okay?” she asks, when his hand settles on her head.
His thumb pauses over her eyelid. “Mm?”
“I mean,” she says. “This,” she says. She presses her knees together, looking at them. “I…” she says, looking up at him.
He’s paused with his lips formed around questioning. He presses them back together in a smile. “Ah. Hm.” His jaw works in animated consideration. “Do you feel this is inappropriate?”
“No?”
His fingers ruffle her hair. “…Do you feel you’ve acted inappropriately?”
She can’t help but smile. “No.”
His eyebrows rise. “Well, then.”
There is a strong scent in his palm when she presses her lips into it. She finds she likes it, whatever it is.
(There were long shadows on the floors, on the walls, on everything. She’d pressed her head to the back of his shoulder. He’d been sitting, she’d been standing, and she’d been completely in her right mind. She simply hadn’t expected the distance so easily cleared. Nor, when she spoke, had she expected her own voice to sound so level.
“Captain,” she had said, calm but not breathing. “Please do not send me away.”
“Hinamori,” he’d replied and for a moment, because she hadn’t been able to see his face, she’d been afraid. “I would never dream of it.”)
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Date: 2005-03-22 08:05 am (UTC)