Ikkaku had never fully understood what it was about Nemu that made watching her as hotly satisfying as sex. Well, almost as satisfying that was. The bed creaked slightly as he leaned back, head resting against his hands as he watched her dress with that slow, gentle elegance she did everything with.

There was something so completely unabashed, yet so truly pure and untouchable about her as she stepped into her underwear, slender fingers hooking about them and smoothly pulling them up slightly muscled legs. With simple movements, like a tailor in some ways, she'd run her fingers along the top trim to make sure it laid flat.

She never flushed as she arched her back, neatly latching her bra with an experienced thumb and forefinger making short work of the matter. He always marveled at that, when she finished and let her long black hair fall back down, much longer now that it was free, if a bit mussed from the activities of the night before.

She'd stop then, shaded eyes glancing back as if she knew he was watching before bending down to gather the dark black top that differentiated her from the other women of Seireitei (one of the many differences, Ikkaku would say). And, as if acting on that knowledge, she always seemed to go slower at that, relishing those last couple minutes of his eyes fixed so intently on her naked frame.

When she was finished dressing, she'd reach for the small comb she carried with her. It was no surprise when she found it missing, though. She knew where it was and settled back on the bed with Ikkaku as if simply knowing who had taken it.

He was inexpert at brushing her hair, as would be expected, having none of his own and the only girl whose hair he usually brushed being known for being unable to hold still for the procedure. Still, his rough hands pulled her hair back with an almost worshipful gesture as he combed what tangles had formed in her thick black hair. The silence stretched easily between them as Ikkaku's lips screwed in concentration, taking more time than she'd usually allow for the act.

His fingers never brushed her skin and she seemed to know when he had finished, pulling away to braid her hair into the braid she never was without.

Her tabi were the next things to put on. She arched her foot just slightly as she pulled them on, tightening them around her small feet. Her wrist guards were made short work of. She'd put on her heeled sandals at the door.

As she rose to go, Ikkaku rose with her, reaching up to tie her choker around her neck, his lips roughly brushing against hers.

"You're beautiful," he whispered. They were simple words, but the only way he could really describe her.

She smiled softly and returned the kiss, breathing a word of thanks.