A/N: This is a collection of stories for the Livejournal "30 Lemons" Community (the link is in my profile). Each piece will be themed according to the prompts listed at the site. I'm not sure how long it will take me to complete all 30 of them, but I'll do my best!

[Has been slightly edited for this site from the original.]


Theme: #4 – The Thrill of the Forbidden, or, "No, You Must Not!...Here, Let Me Help You."
Title: Lip Service
Words: 4613
Disclaimer: Don't own; just like to play with them in inappropriate situations.
Summary: Ulquiorra watches Orihime often, during her long confinement. Apparently he has no idea how it affects her—until he happens to enter her room at a most inopportune moment.



He was her only visitor, this sad-eyed, white-robed warden; yet he came to watch her several times each day.

Orihime knew it was his job, his responsibility, to look after her. Aizen had decreed it. But still she couldn't shake the feeling that sometimes Ulquiorra, the Cuarta Espada, looked too long in her direction—watched her too intensely—for it to have been only out of duty.

He brought her meals with regularity, and sat and watched as she ate them. There was never any sense that he was pressed for time and was observing her to intimidate her into eating the food more quickly; on the contrary, he seemed to have all the time in the world to sit and watch every bite make its way from the plate, to the fork, to her lips, and back to the plate; over and over again, repeating.

Sometimes he announced his presence to her while still outside her door, giving her polite advanced notice that he was about to enter; other times, like the first time he'd surprised her in her new uniform, he stood for what was probably several minutes watching her before she'd realized it. She couldn't think of what was so interesting about her that drew his attention so raptly—she was no beauty queen, and surely someone in his position wouldn't be fascinated by something as simple as a teenage girl—but after a while, she gave up trying.

When he was not bringing her meals, or coolly studying her as she stood gazing up at her window, he actually attempted to engage her in conversation. Most of the time it was not anything she particularly wanted to hear, but either he didn't realize it, or it wasn't of his concern.

"You must continue to eat the food that we bring you, to sustain your nourishment," he ordered her sternly, and Orihime nodded in obedience. This was his favorite topic of discussion, by far—listing the things she must do to keep herself alive and well for Aizen-sama's needs. He seemed to enjoy drawing words of affirmative loyalty from her.

"Yes," she answered mechanically.

"You must also keep your mind alert and fresh, so that you may best serve him when he calls for you."

She had no idea how, in this sterile white prison cell they kept her in, she was supposed to keep her mind active—luckily she had something of an overactive imagination—but nevertheless she went along with it. "...Yes."

"You must keep physically active and also sleep when your body needs rest, so that you do not become ill and therefore be of no use to Aizen-sama."


"Do you understand all of these orders, woman?" The question was not rough—merely curious and seeking affirmation. She nodded. "For whose purposes are you kept here for?" She knew now, after several instances, that he took some sort of pleasure in hearing her say it.

"For Aizen-sama," she replied dutifully.

He appeared satisfied. "Very well. Your repeatedly-demonstrated strength will no doubt be a valuable asset to him."

Demonstrated strength? That was the second time that day that he'd made a reference to her being strong. It continually surprised her.

"I will attend to your nourishment in six hours. In the meantime, you should take your rest." He turned on his heel as if to leave the room.

"W-wait, Ulquiorra," she spoke up hesitantly, and he quickly turned his head.

"What is it?"

Orihime dreaded marring her perfect record of responses to her keeper—as long as she said whatever it was that he wanted to hear, he seemed somewhat content with her—but she couldn't keep up the pretense from him for long. Eventually with the perceptive way he watched her, studied her features, he would realize it.

"I haven't been sleeping," she said, quiet and forlorn. She wrung her hands together before her in distress.

He turned his entire frame to face her. "Is that so." Something was in his eyes, but whether it was concern or mild irritation, she couldn't tell. "For how long?"

"For two nights, now."

Ulquiorra cocked his head, hands still in the pockets of his hakama. "You know it is important that you are adequately rested, woman. What do you need to ensure that you will sleep properly? A sedative?"

Her eyes widened, and she shook her head determinably. "No, I—I don't want a sedative." She'd never taken one before, and besides, who knew what they would give her, here in Las Noches? Hollow drugs, probably developed by that disturbing Espada Szayel-san, that if swallowed would turn her into a monstrous version of a badger or a cockroach, or something equally frightening...

"Then sleep."

She frowned. "…It's not as simple as that," she replied. "We have to be…relaxed, and at peace, in order to sleep." And that way you're looking at me right now doesn't help one bit, she thought to herself.

The look he gave her suggested mild confusion, and for a moment Orihime was worried he'd somehow magically heard her unspoken thoughts. In reality, though, it was more likely he hadn't even entertained the notion that she wasn't relaxed, nor at peace in Las Noches.

He seemed to waver for a moment before speaking, which was very unlike him, she noticed. "…What do you require to become relaxed?"

"Well," she launched into explanation, "sometimes a very long and boring book will make me doze off while reading it…and sometimes listening to soothing music helps, but only if there's no lyrics to it—because if it has lyrics, I listen too closely to them, and get distracted—"

"We have no boring books or soothing music," he interrupted flatly.

"Isn't that strange, though?" she asked him conversationally, almost hoping he would agree with her. "I would have thought a place with a name that meant 'the nights' would have lots of things around that helped you focus on sleep—"

"Woman…" There was a tone of warning to his voice.

"—but anyway, even if I'm too young for it, and I'm not supposed to have it, sometimes if I have an alcoholic drink, that can make me sleepy as well…"

Ulquiorra's mouth was a grim, perturbed line. "We do not have any alcohol, either." The conversation was apparently vexing him, and she didn't know why; after all, he had asked her to tell him what she'd needed.

She grew quiet in the face of his irritation, not wanting to bother him any further. "…Oh."

"You will sleep, now, as I've ordered you." He turned on his heel and began to head towards the door again, his profile still angled toward her so he could observe her in his peripheral vision. "Do whatever is in your means to ensure that you are able to achieve that." And with one last look—that she could swear betrayed the slightest change of expression on that normally cool, placid face—he went out the door and was gone.

She sighed, defeated, as the heavy door swung shut.


Hours later, she was nowhere closer to having achieved that blissful dreaming state that she sought so desperately.

Orihime tossed her limbs aimlessly in her large white bed. She'd tried reciting the alphabet backwards several times, thinking up words for each letter—but she'd been continuously stumped by the letter U, and had to start over again. She'd tried counting sheep—but every time after the fourth or fifth, the little white sheep had started to develop bright green eyes and teal-colored tear tracks down their little bleating faces, as they'd hopped their trusty picket fence.

"It's no use," she whispered to herself, her voice sounding desolate to her own ears. Her body was somewhat tired, but her brain was going a mile a minute. No matter what she tried to think of to calm herself, she was far too mentally distracted to sleep.

She turned her head to look over at the oversized white couch at the other end of her room, gently lit by the moon's light coming through her window. It looked so comfortable—smaller than her bed, but so that the effect of lying in it would be more like cradling, cocooning, rather than the big empty expanse of her white bedsheets.

There was one thing that had always assured her proper sleep—but she'd refrained from doing such a thing here, in Aizen-sama's castle, with his ghostly bodyguards lurking at every turn, and particularly with her very own warden who looked in on her too often and watched her too carefully sometimes.

But, she figured, he would not be coming back for several more hours. Could she risk it?

Stealthily Orihime got up from her bed, shedding her modest nightgown as she did. Her skin was already alive and goose-fleshed in anticipation, despite the warmth of her room. If she did it quickly, and hurried, she could crawl back into bed afterwards, and no one would be the wiser...she crept through the barely-lit room to the couch in the corner, on tiptoe as though she were afraid of being heard. Silent as a mouse..

The cushions and material were so soft, made with a fabric that tickled against her bare skin—something she had discovered days earlier during dressing one day, and that had prompted the idea she was now acting on. She laid herself across the cushions, sinking into them luxuriously. From this position she could see the moon through the window, its light bathing her skin in its soft glow, and she had a momentary amused thought as she spread her naked limbs and sighed. Moonshine. Maybe she could get a moonburn, instead of a sunburn. Was it like the inverse of a sunburn—would it feel cold, and not hot?

The idea of the moon searing her skin with cold made her think for some reason of Ulquiorra, and Orihime paused to digest the association. He did seem cold, with his pale-white skin, and piercing green eyes—like mint leaves, she thought—and she wondered; if she touched him, would his skin be warm or freezing to the touch? She was overcome with a sudden curiosity.

Gently she stroked a bare breast with her fingers, feeling the peak harden to a sensitive point. She plucked at it teasingly, moving her other hand south, sliding down the soft plain of her stomach. It had been a while since she'd done this, at least several weeks since she'd been home—but upon testing herself with a finger, she discovered her body was more than ready.


Most of the time her fantasies were associated with Kurosaki-kun, and involved intricate scenarios with candlelit dinners—that she made herself, red bean paste and all—and romantic ambiance, usually culminating in her being carried off, bridal-style, to a bed. What happened afterwards in the daydreams was more vague, but there were long, drawn-out episodes of kissing, touching, and Kurosaki-kun lying full-length over her and moving his hips, still completely clothed. She had trouble imagining him with his pants off or undone, because Kurosaki-kun was so prim and proper all the time, and wouldn't his bottom get cold…?

But this time, as much as she tried to convince her mind otherwise, Orihime's thoughts kept unwillingly returning to her sad-eyed captor. Why did he look at her so often, so intensely? None of the other Arrancar or Espada seemed to have any real awareness of her, besides the twin girls who seemed to dislike her, and Nnoitra-san who often made strange gestures with his tongue whenever she looked in his direction—even Aizen himself seemed mildly disinterested. But when Ulquiorra looked at her, she felt almost as though sunbeams were radiating from her and transfixing him somehow.

Even Kurosaki-kun had never looked at her in such a way. When Kurosaki-kun looked at her, she almost felt as though he were looking through her, at something else in the distance. Ulquiorra's stare was more penetrating, as though he could see past the façade she showed to almost everyone else. As though he were looking at the real her.

It was that look of his that drove her hands as she stroked herself between the legs, slow and lingering, and felt her already-damp center becoming even more—

"Woman. What are you doing?"

"...AAAAAHHHH!" She shrieked, instinctively reaching for something to cover herself with—forgetting she'd left both her nightgown and her arrancar uniform on the other side of the room, near her bed.

Ulquiorra's voice was still pleasantly unruffled, like a still pond, but with a hint of curiosity in his question. "Don't make such a fuss," he chided, as if it were a common occurrence that she should be naked on the couch and touching herself every day when he showed up to her room, and therefore nothing worth reacting to. He prompted her again, as she tried futilely to cover herself with her hands. "What are you doing?"

"N-nothing…nothing! Go away!" Orihime desperately wished she had more hands to cover her face as well, as it burned with shame. She couldn't begin to feel the depths of her embarrassment yet; mortification was a drastic understatement. She wanted to drop to the floor and crawl underneath the couch.

"You were doing something to yourself," he corrected, nonplussed. "What are you doing to this body of yours that belongs to Aizen-sama? Giving in to your baser instincts?" He frowned faintly in disapproval. "You shouldn't be using it for such trivial things."

She looked away from him, humiliated, still wet and shaking from her earlier activities. "I'm just trying to…" she whispered.

"Trying to what?" He seemed genuinely curious.

"I'm doing as you suggested…to help me sleep, I'm trying to…" She trailed off again, unable to say the words.

A beat went by, during which comprehension dawned on Ulquiorra. As she peeked at him, she could see that he'd given her an interested look. "So by making yourself orgasm, you will be able to sleep?"

Oh yes, he apparently knew now just what exactly she'd been doing. Her face continued to burn with its humiliating flush, but there was something of a feeling of relief as well, that it wasn't completely beyond his understanding. At least she wouldn't have to explain in any further graphic, painful detail.

She nodded, turning her gaze once more to the couch's pillows, still faintly trembling. Maybe now that she had been painfully honest with him—which he seemed to demand from her, constantly—he'd leave her alone to finish herself off. After all, it was the polite thing to do, and even though he was an Espada in Aizen's army, he'd maintained a strange air of gentleman-like civility with her nearly at all times.

But he stood, still, hands in his pockets.

"Very well. Continue."

Her mouth gaped open as she regarded him in shock. "Y-you're…going to watch me do it?!?!"

"Yes." His expression remained unchanged. "It is my duty to ensure that you are able to sleep; I will observe to make sure that your efforts are successful."

Orihime grimaced. Now she had no idea what to do—her body desperately needed relief, having come so close to the pinnacle of her activities before he'd come in, but she didn't know if she could possibly do it while he was just standing there, impassively watching her. The idea that he wanted to observe her while she masturbated was almost as mortifying as having been caught doing it in the first place.

...And yet, she knew, he wouldn't leave until he knew she'd finished her task to completion, and was relaxed enough to sleep. Arrancar apparently didn't need to sleep or eat—he would probably stand there while she was naked on the couch for the entire night, waiting.

Yielding, one of her hands covering herself began to move, slowly, just barely parting the lips of her sex...before she glanced over at him again, and her entire body cringed once more in embarrassment. She rolled over on her side and cowered from his view.

"I can't," she whispered, hiding her face in her hands, her modesty for the state of her lower half momentarily forgotten.

There was a soft swish of the surrounding air, and Orihime lifted her face from her hands to see that he had moved from the foot of the couch, where he'd entered near the door, to stand directly over her—all in the blink of an eye. His sudden use of sonido startled her, and she gave a soft gasp.

He was studying her closely. "You're agitated," he said, noticing the parts of her where blood had rushed and had made her delicate skin splotchy and red in the process. "You need to continue your activities, or possibly risk injury to yourself."

She shook her head, but he was stoically firm. "You will continue." It came out as a command rather than a request.

Obediently she shut her eyes and tilted her chin, trying to block out the vision of him standing over her, and moved her hands back to their former places—one between her thighs, one at her breast. She bit her lip as she stroked herself, at first timidly, and then more leisurely as her hands retraced their pleasurable routes over her body. She was still so excited that she found, with some surprise, that it was not difficult to resurrect her former state.

She cracked her eyes open just briefly and saw that he still stood over her, watching her hands' movements intently.

And then he spoke again, throwing her off once more: "You're so wet, there," he noted, eyeing her between the legs where both her thighs and fingers glistened. "Is that normal?"

"Y-yes," she whispered, frowning lightly, a trace of impatience showing. Was he going to let her bring herself off in peace, or was he going to turn this into an interrogation? She shut her eyes again to attempt to ignore him as she touched herself, but she could still feel his presence behind her closed eyelids—his reiatsu was flaring, short bursts of fluid power that flowed over her like a blanket. She envisioned him still watching, and to her own surprise, it sent an unexpected thrill spiraling through her.

And then he touched her breast.

It was just a ghost of a touch, a finger that brushed lightly against her erect nipple, but she gasped with a mixture of startled fear and pleasure. Her eyes flew open and went wide as they met his. No one had ever touched her there, besides herself, and it was like an electric jolt coursing through her entire body.

"Did that distract you?" he asked, stepping back. Suddenly he looked uncertain.

"N-no…" Her fingers moved again, of their own accord, and this time her eyes remained open, fixing on his. Somehow watching his gaze move back and forth from her face to her hands' activities made her even more excited; the green eyes traveled over her, resting on every moonlit peak and valley, mapping the terrain of her body in careful, scrutinizing detail. It was as though he were hungry and was gluttonously feasting on her with his eyes. It was an orgy of sight.

"What exactly are your fingers doing there, between your legs?" Orihime looked up at his question, quizzically. "Spread yourself, so that I can see."

Her heart began a new, frenzied rhythm in her ribcage. "…But…"

"Do it, woman." His voice was authoritative like before, but…softer, this time. Almost gentle.

She complied, whimpering just a bit, as she parted her outer lips before starting to stroke her clit again with two slick fingers. She felt her face flushing once more, hot and red. He leaned closer, almost directly over her lower body, and watched attentively.

"Spread your legs, more." His voice was a bit more breathy, she noticed. "Wider."

Now she had one thigh hanging off the edge of the couch and one thigh resting vertically against the back cushion, spread wide for him to see. Despite her initial reluctance, she found the new position exposed even more of her flesh to her touch, and she varied the motion, stroking around the clitoris and then sliding a finger just part-way inside, feeling herself becoming continuously wetter. Her fingers were slippery, and slid over her quivering flesh with ease.

Ulquiorra knelt by the couch to get even a closer look, and she grabbed one of her own breasts to tweak the nipple as she watched him. He was now eye-level with her body. She shuddered, in anticipation of something she couldn't quite put a name to.

His gaze returned to her heaving, pink-tipped breasts. He brushed a black-nailed fingertip against one of her nipples as he had before, and his eyes widened at her sharp moan. He did it again to the other one, as if to test her.

She shifted restlessly, biting her lip; she was getting close again, as she had before, and it was painfully obvious to her now that it was at least partly because of him. She came to a quick decision.

"Ulquiorra," she whispered, and his head snapped up to look her in the eyes. "You can use…use your mouth, on them."

The look he gave her alone nearly sent her into paroxysms of pleasure. "Is that what you want me to do? You want me to use my mouth on you?"

She nodded quietly, her excitement spiraling higher.

His mouth descended, and against the sensitive bud of her breast she felt his lips and tongue, wet and surprisingly warm—and then just the barest scrape of his teeth. She cried out loudly, her fingers still stroking, but he seemed to know she wasn't in pain or agony. Carefully he laved her with his tongue, then seeing her reaction to the increased pressure, used it to flick the nipple in short, sharp strokes.

Her fingers between her legs slowed, as she felt her blood pulsing and her muscles tensing—now, instead of wanting to reach her pleasure faster, she wanted to delay it so she could continue to feel Ulquiorra's teeth and tongue on her breasts. She was surprised, though, to feel two of his fingers trail down her lower stomach to join hers at her wet slit, and start stroking it as her fingers were doing.

"How did you get so wet, woman?" he whispered quietly, curiously, and she groaned and panted in response.

"I don't knoww—ohhh," she replied nonsensically, twisting and writhing under his fingers and mouth.

Now he was nipping at and licking the sensitive peaks of her breasts, moving his head leisurely from one to the other, and at the same time sliding his fingers around the wet flesh between her legs. Her own fingers had long since abandoned their duty.

"…Please," she whispered, feeling the orgasm approach and unable to do anything but beg. "Please don't stop."

But he did, and Orihime nearly screamed in frustration—until she realized what he was doing. He was pulling at her legs, repositioning her lower half, so that he could move between them, and he leaned his head down between her thighs to look closely at her sex.

He caught her wrist in his hand and brought her fingers toward his mouth, licking and sucking slightly at the digits, and it took her another moment to figure out why—he was tasting her on her hand, and then on his own. The taste seemed agreeable to him, and his eyes turned to her again.

"Do you want me to put my mouth there, as well?" he asked lowly, glancing down again between her thighs, and she was silent for a moment in trembling shock. His eyes narrowed as they slid back up to hers. "…Answer me."

Without thinking on it too heavily she nodded, spreading herself with her fingers for him and holding her breath in anticipation.

He watched her face before his gaze flicked briefly to the spot between her legs that she'd bared to him, and then back up at her eyes again. Watching her all the while, he moved his mouth to her wet slit and introduced his tongue, the lick deep and hot and luxuriously unhurried. She let out a long, pleading whine; a song of supplication.

He spoke against her flesh, his words muffled. "Do you want me to continue?"

She nodded wordlessly, almost in tears. He began to lick her in a devastating rhythm, slowly and painstakingly, covering every wet and shivering inch of her, leaving no part untouched. Instinctively he focused in on the swollen nub of flesh at the apex, moving his tongue as he'd probably seen her fingers do, circling it and sliding over it repeatedly, and her panting moans filled the room. He started suckling that small bundle of nerves then, holding it in place with his lips as he flicked it with his tongue as he had her nipples, prompting soft, punctuated shrieks from her as she moved a hand to grab onto the horn of his helmet—simply for something to hold onto.

He wouldn't stop; he was untiring. His tongue moved relentlessly, even as he still watched her with those terrible and beautiful penetrating eyes, drinking in every reaction to what he was doing to her; and Orihime felt her muscles beginning to convulse, her hips bucking up into his mouth uncontrollably. When she came, her body shaking head to foot, her cries of completion sounded like deafening roars in the white silence of the palace chamber.

Ulquiorra would have continued his motions, but she stopped him with fluttering hands on either side of his head, gasping and panting, still shaking with the aftershocks of her orgasm. "Too...too sensitive," she whispered, her hands gentling as she felt him slow and then stop his movements. He watched her carefully for long moments as she reclined against the pillows and laboriously caught her breath, and he slowly wiped her residual juices from his mouth with the back of his hand.

Through the haze of her vision, Orihime could see he still appeared hungry somehow, unsated. He seemed to recover his expressionless mask quickly, soon afterward.

Without another word he rose from his kneeling position next to the couch, standing in a fluid rush of white robes and looking down at her. His hands returned to the pockets of his hakama. "I trust you will be able to sleep now," he intoned, and she nodded, dazedly.

"In the future, if you continue to have problems sleeping, you should inform me, and I will—" he paused, for just a fraction of a beat, "—take care of it."

She blinked, but knew better enough to not pester him with questions—it was better to leave things unsaid, for now.

"Okay," she replied, to his retreating back; he was already striding towards her door.

"Go to sleep, woman." The door closed shut behind his soft, final words.

And Orihime considered spending the rest of the night on the couch, naked, curious to see what his reaction would be to such a sight at breakfast.