A/N: Hello everyone, my name is Princess Kitty1, and if you're here, I am expecting that you read my fic Muse and know what to expect in this story. If you haven't, please find it in my profile page and read it! Despite being about a prostitute and rated M, it has no lemons in it, and I'm not sorry about that in the slightest.
For the rest of you, hi! I'd been planning on doing this for a while. This is not a sequel… only about two of these chapters will have some interconnecting plot, since a lot of you were wanting to know how Ulquiorra and Orihime overcame their issues and got the happy ending that I gave them. The rest of these one-shots are, as the summary states, the continued misadventures of Ulquiorra and Orihime. I hope you enjoy them!
Disclaimer: Bleach ownership is not mine, nor is any other copyrighted thing.
By: Princess Kitty1
I Like That
Sometimes, living with Orihime Inoue, twenty-one year old ex-prostitute and recovering alcoholic, could be rather difficult… and not for the obvious, aforementioned reasons.
Twenty-four year old Ulquiorra Schiffer, celebrity pianist-slash-composer and well-known hater of odd numbers, could proudly say that he hadn't rearranged the furniture in his apartment since before the eighth of December, the day after he had brought Ms. Inoue home from the hospital. No, he had taken the stress of that week – of almost losing the woman he had come to like a lot more than himself – quite well; he hadn't laid a single finger on the furniture. An impressive feat, considering that he'd acquired that nervous tick over several years and, by all accounts, it should have been a hard habit to break.
Ms. Inoue had been quick to tell him that buying entirely new furniture did not count as conquering his obsessive-compulsion.
It was a cold morning in late January when the elevator doors opened onto the fourth floor of the Las Noches apartment complex, a towering structure in the Hueco Mundo district that was infamous for being labeled backwards – the fourth floor was actually the seventh from the ground. Ulquiorra stepped out of the cart, dressed in a thick coat and a bright green scarf that his roommate… girlfriend… had purchased for him as a Christmas present.
Hmm… was she his girlfriend? They had been living together platonically for three months, "romantically" for one. She slept in his bed with him every night, occasionally made him dinner (but mostly insisted that he do it himself), wore his clothes when she was feeling too lazy to do laundry (which was often)… ah, yes, and their tongues had been in each others' mouths (it was pleasant).
Yes, Ulquiorra supposed that by society's standards, they were officially together, which wouldn't have been all that bad had it not been for the fact that an amorous woman was so incredibly distracting.
A man who appreciated his peace and quiet, Ulquiorra grew tense the moment he heard music coming from down the hall in the general direction of his apartment. Uh-oh… not this again. He looked down at the bag of groceries in his hand. Luckily he hadn't bought much, so there was a good chance that he would be able to put it all away and run to the safety of his (their?) bedroom before she made him forget what he had set out to accomplish that afternoon; mainly, figuring out how much money her hospital stay had drained from his savings. He made a mental note to find her some health insurance. Really, it was like owning a dog… but Ms. Inoue wasn't a dog, she was…. His brow furrowed in frustration. Did they sell health insurance for dragons?
Approaching the door – and here the music grew much louder, a lively beat making the floor beneath his shoes pulse – he straightened his back and took in a deep breath, mentally preparing himself for what he was about face. Then he took his keys from his pocket, inserted them into the knob and twisted it until the lock went click. Breathe in, breathe out… he pushed forward and burst into the dragon's keep like a valiant knight with a shield made of produce.
It was worse than he thought.
Orihime Inoue, in all of her red-haired, curvaceous glory, was shimmying by the dining table, clad in a pair of gray shorts and a white tank top. She threw her hips to the side as she turned in his direction, a coy smirk spreading across her face. Ulquiorra swallowed a lump of air the size of a watermelon. Remember the mission, he thought grimly as the singing began.
"My body rocks a rhythm, you beat my drum hard. I might just kick it, kick it; you wanna lick it, lick it. I love to stick it, stick it, from London to L.A.; Yeah that's the ticket-ticket, come on and kiss it, kiss it…"
Tearing his eyes away from the dancing girl, he removed his shoes (her antics would not stop him from upholding his own house rules) before hurriedly making his way across the carpeted floor towards the kitchen.
"I like the Gucci, Gucci, I love the dollar bill; I love your pocket rocket, we live to shock it, shock it. I like the way you smile – I might just bite your lip; I see you talkin', talkin'; your hands are talkin' talkin'…."
Really, Ulquiorra thought with a frown as the singer let out a loud cry, where did Ms. Inoue find these songs? He was beginning to suspect her boss, Rangiku Matsumoto, of being a horrible influence… then again, she could have gotten it from Nelliel on the sixth floor. It was the sort of song that he could imagine his sometimes-best friend Grimmjow Jaegerjaques putting on to drown out his fiancé's enraptured noises.
"I like your dirty mind – mine's on it all the time; Oh let me shake it, shake it, oh Polaroid it, shake it; I'm a graffiti girl, I wanna spray it, spray it; I like to throw the paint… you wanna throw the paint?"
Ulquiorra threw open the refrigerator door and scrambled to free the milk and eggs from the plastic bag, which had become damp from the cold. Damn it! She was in the kitchen entrance now, coming towards him. Perhaps if he kept ignoring her she would go away….
"I'm lockin', not hip-hoppin'; You lace me up right. It's getting' tricky-tricky, you're gettin' sticky-sticky. I like that 8-track; it takes me way back. I like to bite New York, avec un knife and fork…. My body rocks a rhythm, you beat my drum hard!"
Oh God, it was getting worse. Ulquiorra felt her pass by, dancing all the way, as he shoved the groceries into the fridge, bread included. He would come back for it later. The current situation was too dangerous. He needed to get to freedom…!
Two arms slipped around his torso, fingernails biting into the front of his shirt, and the last thing he registered was the feeling of her lips pressing to the cartilage of his ear before she let out an obscenely erotic moan at the same time as the singer. A miniature earthquake traveled down the length of Ulquiorra's body.
"I love the money, money; I'm dripping, dripping gold. I like to disco baby. You wanna kiss now, baby?"
And then the tempo of the song abruptly changed, and the woman promptly began dancing against him, as if they were two hormonal teenagers at a midnight rave. Ulquiorra remained rigid, his hand tightening around the handle of the refrigerator door.
"My body rocks a rhythm, you beat my drum hard! My body rocks a rhythm, rocks a rhythm, rocks a rhythm…."
He turned and marched straight out of the kitchen with the grinning woman at his heels.
"My body rocks a rhythm," Ulquiorra stopped and shot a glare at her over his shoulder. "You beat my drum – " her glossed lips formed around the word " – hard."
He felt one of his knees buckle.
"My body rocks a rhythm, rocks a rhythm, rocks a rhythm…"
Orihime continued to dance, watching Ulquiora's back as he limped down the hallway, disappearing into his bedroom. A moment later, he reemerged with a change of clothes, trudged into the bathroom, and slammed the door shut the second the song ended. Immediately she burst into a fit of laughter that had her staggering towards the couch, lest she fall onto the floor in her hysterics.
Ah, the poor sap! She made a mental note to torture him like this more often, though she knew that when he came out of the bathroom he would be out for blood. Oh well! Things were much more fun this way.
Clutching one of the couch cushions to her chest, she stared at the ceiling a moment longer before closing her eyes and breathing in the clean and comfortable scent that she had come to love almost as much as the man who was currently sulking in the shower.
"It's good to be home."
To Be Continued
A/N: Yeah… XD Lucky guy. The song featured in this one-shot is I Like That by Luciana, Richard Vission and Static Revenger! You should listen to it. It'll make you dance like you've never danced before.
I'm not expecting there to be a lot of these one-shots, either. Ten chapters or less. If there are more than that, feel free to kick me. …and this will not be updated frequently, as I am working on finishing Oz and Tell Yourself at the moment.
Do review and let me know what you think!