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Play Pretend

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I do not own Ulquiorra or Orihime, nor do I own Aristotle’s quote.

Play Pretend:


"To perceive is to suffer"—Aristotle.


Children are not the only ones to play "Pretend" when reality is not to their liking.



       "Stop…" She pleaded airily.


       Her deep-throated pants caused white plumes of warmth to curl into the cold night's air around them. Her flushed skin glistened with perspiration. They were heated despite the coolness of the room and desert evening. The moonlight peered through the singular window of the white-walled room. The pink of her cheeks contrasted the male's colorless complexion. Her body shook and a whimper escaped as he moved roughly against her, their bodies mending together, flesh to flesh, on his lap.


       "Stop…Kuro-sa-" She whimpered again before a moan shook the core of her body. He knew she didn't really mean 'stop'. It was apparent in the way she clutched onto the male's darker tresses when he impaled her, burying her face in the crook of his neck as he pummeled into her. She sighed loudly against his skin, her breath brushing his collar bone. Her nails drew harsh red lines along his back as her pelvis stressed to push itself further onto him in an attempt to pull him in deeper. She threw her head back as she found pleasure in the desolate castle. And his aqua gaze took her in.


       A tap on the door cause Orihime to lift her head from where it rested upon her knees. It was that time again. The girl winced as the heavy alabaster door slammed open, light quickly pooling into the dark room.


       In its brilliance a dark figure stood, silhouetted against the illumination that washed the colorless walls in a reflection that was far too bright for Orihime to look at without squinting. The figure in the doorway gracefully shut the door and glided towards a small, chalky table to his left, setting down the silver tray he held with a gentle tap of metal against the cool surface of the table.


       The air seemed to chill.


       His hands returned to his overly large pockets as he waited for her to follow instructions.


       The eerie silence of this domain, with its high, rounded ceilings, seemed to make the air swell, and hang stagnant and thick. The room lacked a homey aspect, despite the large bed, plush with its comforter of goose feathers, and a couch, overstuffed and soft. The meager table with its lone chair sat in a corner.


       Then there were these two beings; this man and woman: their breathing so shallow, it was barely even audible. Time seemed to hang still as they stood, its claws curling around their necks, breathing down their vertebrae, and trickling down their time.


       Unable to hush his anger any longer, the male's fingers, (though barely visible as they were tucked in his pants), twitched.


       A gasp rippled through the air, slicing the silence. Pressed against the curve of the sofa's arm rest, the man, in less time than it took to blink, had closed the distance between he and the female, and had less than gingerly placed his hand around her jugular. The pressure he applied causes Orihime to claw at the hand that held her neck with frantic swipes. She gagged.


       "I'm….sorry….." She managed to croak out. She desperately tried to pry his black-nailed hand from her neck. Her brain screamed for her to breathe. The man looked at her, emotionless, his always sinister-sad look marred only by the slightest glint of hatred and annoyance in his eyes. The girl's fingertips dug into his pale complexion, a pink stream following her nail as it raked against the skin beneath his knuckles. He flung her by the neck towards the table, the girl falling into a heap on the ground, her back raising and falling with each inhalation and exhalation. He watched as her chest heaved, until it finally stabilized, cleansing the room in silence again.


       Something then piqued his interest.


       The girl's grey eyes had met his through a net of orange strands. A furious look she gave him, but he just stared back expectantly. Slowly she rose to her feet, not breaking eye contact with him, meeting his stare with determination as she pulled her shoulders back to stand straight, posture correct and full of a will to rebel against his orders. It was enticing, if only towards his need for dominance….


       Those serpentine eyes watched as she sat, back upright, and began to spoon broth from a bowl into her mouth, blowing lightly for show on the already cold liquid. She swallowed as if she enjoyed it, though the espada knew from her knitted brows and closed eyes that she was trying her best to not gag.


       He sauntered over to her, and stood several feet from the table to watch as she obediently surrendered to her orders and finished everything on her plate. She looked miffed and avoided eye contact, waiting for her captor to leave. He glared at her from under thick dark lashes, watching, judging. She was a frail thing indeed. As much as she wanted to put up this strong-willed façade, he had heard her many a times weeping over her Kurosaki Ichigo once the espada had exited the room.


       This weak thing, he knew she relished the time when he was here. Upon first coming here, she used to always chirp about her nakama, and how they would be on their way to retrieve her, and the truth wasn't far from it, though it did not happen instantaneously. He could tell she had enjoyed his silent company; at least it was another living being and not white wasted walls. Several weeks then passed, and the routine of bringing her food had become standard in the espada's life. 'But this frail girl…'thought the man.


       That fiery will that helped her believe her nakama were coming had still not left her, but she no longer proudly told him about the greatness of them. She not longer radiated that same shine she had when she first entered Hueco Mundo.


       Inoue Orihime: it wasn't that she was thinner, oh no, this man had ensured she ate.


       But she had lost a gleam about her, an emitting light. She had become plain and simple like the fortress she resided in. She had become black and white, a part of the scenery of Hueco Mundo (and this was not thanks to her attire); she purely became a mundane chore for the man. She had simply begun to ever so slowly lose that will, that fire.


       And so steadily, Inoue Orihime began to whither, and painstakingly, those nights of weeping had reminded her of her prisoner status and humans needs. This of course, included food, socialization, and the urge to feel wanted and… (dare he think this?) loved. This is how humans, simply, feel alive.


       Humans are indeed social, needy animals. Her attempts at conversation with him had been dull and to his disinterest. Her smile bore no power to make him react. But her touch….


       Presently though, Inoue had gotten up, a questioning gleam in her eyes as she approached the espada, pausing before him, eyes downcast in shame. Slowly she reached up to grace his marked cheek, her eyes defiant of her actions, as if cursing her body and instincts for acting on its own. "But alas", the man thought, "Humans are still humans." Their needs are overpowering, especially for this weak woman, so battered and broken by her solitude.


       Her warm fingers traced his jaw line, hovering over his skin as she proceeded to unzip his jacket. The fingers gently took his neck in her grasp, just above the dark hole that was so distinctive of him. It was as if she wanted to choke him, and then her gaze would change.


       'Humans have imagination.'


       Her frustrated grey orbs would change to ones of longing and pain, and her needs and instinct betrayed her. His hands would move to her dress and he would grope her breasts, finding her nipples through the fabric as they began to quickly harden. She threw her head back and cringed. He would slide one hand from her breasts to her crotch, smoothing a finger in between her thighs, twirling his finger against her, their skin separated by the fabric of her gown and undergarments. She shivered and flushed.


       The man fluidly lifted her hands from his neck, and roughly pushed her back. She stumbled slightly before he approached her, one hand going for the zipper of her jacket, the other to caress her hip.


       The jacket popped open when he had unzipped it, revealing plentiful cleavage. The man calmly slipped the hem of her dress over those bursting mounds, (making sure to slip down the strapless bra underneath as well), to reveal very full breasts, perky and pink. He roughly took a nipple in his mouth, swirling his tongue around the areola, circling a spiral in towards the tip, and then out. Orihime sighed as he suckled and lapped at her tit, his other hand fondling the other breast, rubbing and twisting the point until Orihime cried out in pain. He roughly began to push her back as he did this, her back hitting the sofa armrest she was pinned to earlier, the arch of her back fitting into the arch of the arm rest quite neatly.


       She took an opportunity to find the zipper to her dress and the clasp to her bra, completely stripping her clothes off before leaning over the arm rest to slide, with her wet nipple gleaming in the moonlight from the single window, onto the main cushions of the couch. The man couldn't help but feel himself begin to harden.


       Slowly she began to slide her hand down from her neck, grazing over her hard nipples, and down her toned stomach to the hem of her silk panties. Her mouth was slightly agape, lips gleaming, waiting for a response from the male, but to no avail. The man was as statuesque as ever.


       Slowly she slid her finger down into her panties, legs shyly spread apart before him in show as she slowly pushed a finger into her opening. She whimpered, and it was easy to see the wetness that was already present between her thighs. Her finger began to move, her face red with embarrassment and pleasure.


       Silently the man cursed this woman for temptation as he noticed she had slipped another finger in, her thumb flicking at where her clit would reside. Her deep moans ricocheting off the high walls and echoing into his ears. Her breasts jiggling the minutest amount as she heaved nipples erect and moist. Lustful.


       A certain part of him stirred and he felt the compulsion to ravage her from inside out.


       The man quickly reached down to pull her leg, dragging her towards him. She gave him a red-faced, surprised look. Roughly he pulled the silk cover from the juncture of her legs, pulling out her wet fingers to replace them with his mouth. She gasped as her began to suck on her, tongue swirling wildly and dancing upon her clit. She moaned loudly as the man fulfilled these human needs of hers. She held onto the hair, and mask that covers one side of his head, in an attempt to bring his tongue even deeper into her opening, panting and shrieking in delight.


       Drawing up from the woman, the man pulled her from the couch and onto the floor, where he proceeded to strip his attire and force her to lie beneath him. He bit her collar bone, kissing and sucking on the delicate skin of her neck and breasts, all the while his hands roamed over her skin methodically as if imprinting each detail of her body into his mind. His member throbbed and pressed lightly against her opening, teasingly and not penetrating. Orihime groaned under him. The nearness of her wet womanhood so close to being a meal for his male tendencies was eliciting. Her huge breasts, pressed against him and her hard nipples at times flicking against his own nipples made him want to plow into her.


       But the viridian-eyed man, through pants of hunger, wanted some confirmation first. He grunted, feeling her grind her hips against him. "Stop" He commanded strictly after a grunt.


       "Why…? Kuro…saki…." Those words held the most joyous tone he had heard uttered from her mouth in days.


       She traced her fingers, with reddened tips from previous nighttime rendezvous, down his toned chest and abs to his length and began squeezing. He winced and slapped her hand away, biting the side of her breast in retaliation, kissing it, sucking it, and licking with long laps. She squealed and pushed her body against him. Her lower abdomen was thumping with anticipation.


       "Ichi…Ichi...go…" She sighed, eyes closed.


       The man on top glared at her from beneath thick lashes. Her breasts were perky, splayed under him, pink tips hard as rocks as she heaved and squirmed beneath, groaning as she attempted to impale herself on his dick.


       "Stop" He said again, toneless. The girl stopped momentarily, enough for her to meet his serpent gaze with her teary gray eyes swimming with desire.


       "Say it" He commanded. The ash color of her eyes seemed to reach recognition behind their glazed, lustful look. She slowly shook her head, to which the man violently bit down on her lower lip, sucking and lapping at the blood of the cut. The orange-haired girl shook beneath him. His length pressed against her womanhood. Orihime panted heavily beneath his leanly toned body. The juncture at her hip was unbearably wet and calling out for this man. Tears leaked from the corners of her eyes. Her lip was bruised and bloody, her tits heaved beneath him, and her legs slowly nudged more open for smooth, slick penetration.


       It then came in a hushed whisper. She looked him in the eyes: "Not…Kurosaki…." She paused, a deeper red settling in as she pushed her pelvis towards him. She gently ran her hands over his collar bones to his shoulders, her eyes gleaming with a sad passion beneath tears.


       "…Ulquiorra. I-" He didn't allow her to finish. He shoved into her violently.


       'Kurosaki Ichigo'. He thought, as he pumped viciously into the woman beneath him, causing screams to echo off the walls in a chorus. She twinned her fingers into his hair, moaning his name into his chest. He roughly took her lips in his, lolling his tongue into her wet crevice, meeting her moist muscle with urgency. 'Feh.'


       Ulquiorra was done playing this game.