This story is plot-based now. Please don't expect the usual copier-ness; I wanna try something with this.

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Storm

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It was perhaps the kind of situation Orihime fantasized about: forced into Ichigo's empty house by the rain, warmed by a hot shower, and having nothing to dress in but Ichigo's boxers – blue and orange striped – and a plain white t-shirt.

Tatsuki couldn't help feeling a little guilty about it. But the rain had started again, and it wasn't like Ichigo was going to let her wait it out in soggy clothes. Bad enough the treachery of wet t-shirts…

He had suggested to throw their clothes in the dryer, but she was the one to handle it all. Of course, Ichigo moved that he didn't like the idea of a guest of his doing chores, but Tatsuki immediately contested with a wary scowl that she didn't want him handling her clothes – i.e. her underwear. She also felt it'd be better that he didn't know that she hadn't worn a bra today, even if their earlier intimacy already let him in on that fact.

And so, their clothes were thrown into the wash for the full service. The rain seemed to be turning into a storm, so they were not pressed for time. Yuzu and Karin were staying at a friend's house closer to their school, and their dad had left a note – themed with a superhero Isshin mascot – stating that he was helping out at the Ishida hospital. And while their clothes dried, the two warmed their bones in the shower; at respective times, of course.

"Sorry that we don't have anything else for you to wear," Ichigo said unapologetically, a towel atop his damp head as he returned from his shower. He was dressed also in a white t-shirt, but while he'd also wear boxers if allowed the privacy of the entire house, he felt it more appropriate to wear his baggy pajama bottoms while Tatsuki was around. "My sisters don't have anything bigger."

Tatsuki, sitting cross-legged on the bed, looming over an old volume of a manga that she'd given to Ichigo years ago, looked up at him with a slight sneer. Maybe he didn't mean to, but he seemed to lack tact when speaking to the opposite sex. "Who are you calling big?" she growled like a dragon being rustled from a dream.

At once, Ichigo rolled his eyes, tussled his hair with his towel and then tossed it into the corner of the room. He wouldn't dignify her inferred accusation with a response. Right now, there was the matter that the two of them were in his room when they had a whole house/clinic to themselves. Under normal circumstances, if she came over, they would be secluded to his room, doing homework or discussing movies, manga or school.

Therefore, he pointed with his thumb to the door. "Wanna watch TV while the clothes dry?"

Tatsuki closed the manga and slid off the bed, walking behind Ichigo down the stairs. He suggested making a snack, and Tatsuki asked what the options were. When, after giving some thought to the question, he admitted that he wasn't entirely sure what they had in the kitchen.

"You only let Yuzu-chan work in the kitchen," Tatsuki scolded, fisting the sides of her hips as they met the bottom floor. "That's why you have no idea."

"She insists on handling the food," Ichigo grumbled over his shoulder. "Don't make it sound like I'm forcing her to stay in the kitchen." He turned his head forward and spoke of a time when he tried to make himself breakfast once. Yuzu had a fit and chased him out with a frying pan and spatula. Tatsuki took some pleasure in knowing this story, and Ichigo realized the folly of telling her.

Regardless, the two sat as friends in front of the television, skimming through the channels and trying to decide on something to watch. A rerun of 'Drop In' was showing, and Ichigo hastened to skip it; Tatsuki didn't mind in the slightest.

"I heard there were rumors that he might visit Karakura soon," she said with obvious dislike. "Orihime likes him, but…"

"Keigo and Mizuiro, too," Ichigo grumbled, though he partially suspected that their like of Kanonji was born from the idea of annoying him.

"Heh! Some friends you got, Ichigo," Tatsuki teased with a wink.

Ichigo rolled his eyes, set down the controller, and stood up. "I'll look for something to eat," he said.

Tatsuki was about to let him go, take the remote and channel-surf by herself, but then she had a change of mind and hopped in line behind him again, trying to ignore his strawberry/chocolate scent. She shoved next to him. "You'll probably grab the first bag of chips you see. I'm starting to train for the tournament of women martial arts. I have to be careful with my diet."

Ichigo just scoffed, but thought of what was good and healthy while watching TV. He preferred the usual snacks. Whatever was in the fridge was Yuzu's territory; eating anything that was being saved for dinner would be met with a hard scolding from a soft voice.

Therefore, Tatsuki and Ichigo rummaged through the cabinets. Mostly spices and other cooking material; they found a bag of chips – Tatsuki did – but she looked sternly at Ichigo and set them back in place. "For Karin," she explained firmly, and Ichigo rolled his eyes.

And there it was, on the top shelf, were rice balls; neatly packaged triangles with bean paste in the center (and admittedly, copier has no idea if that's an accurate snack in Japan and briefly contemplates his lack of culture).

"How'd they get up there?" Ichigo mumbled, not remembering storing them himself. Probably snacks that Karin stored away for 'emergencies', or Yuzu tried to hide from their gluttonous father.

In the moment that he puzzled, Tatsuki had already hiked a knee onto the counter. "Alright," she grunted softly, careful to keep her balance on the slim ledge.

"Hey! Hold on!" Ichigo's hands hovered at Tatsuki's sides, ready to catch her if her sock-clad feet slipped on the smooth surface. "I'll get them! You just wait-!"

"You're taking too long," she snapped at him, "and I'm hungry!" She crouched like a gargoyle on the countertop, hands now trying to stabilize underneath her. All at once, her butt jutted out, and Ichigo's face indirectly met with the firm crevice. He sunk between the prompt cheeks, and he was just as embarrassed as Tatsuki when she shrieked back at him. "What are you-?!"

Ichigo had already withdrawn, eyes crossed, cheeks dyed red and the faintest evidence of an oncoming nosebleed in place. He dropped hard, and Tatsuki fell on top of him after snatching a few rice balls. Three scattered across the floor, but the fourth was smooshed between their two bodies. The wrapping had exploded, and their shirts were smeared with rice and bean paste.

"Dammit, Ichigo!"

Ichigo, groaning and rubbing the back of his head, gave her a one-eyed glare. "It's not my fault," he growled at her, and then sized up the mess. Crushed rice on his shirt as well as Tatsuki. Her breasts were covered with the stuff, though he tried not to take ample notice. He instead focused on himself. "I guess we'll have to change again."

Tatsuki put out her bottom lip in a subtle scowl that hid her uncommon inhibition. Ichigo felt it too, though he tried not to address it. She was on top of him again, weight pressing down firmly. She'd propped herself up with bracing arms, but her breasts… They were against him still, and she hadn't chosen to take herself away from him just yet.

His eyes were turned away, sliding along the rim of his bottom lid before he looked at her. He made a noise, trying to figure out his next sentence. But her eyes on his stalled him.

How had they not known? How had they not heard?! The front door had opened, and a full stock of Kurosakis plus one had filled the entryway to the kitchen. Karin saw the scattered rice balls, lamenting that her hiding place was too easily discovered; that was her sensible concern, as she refused to make more out of the scene like Yuzu and her dad did. Yuzu, seeing her older brother crammed underneath a girl – even Tatsuki-chan! – was flushed red, but her reaction was nothing to the flabbergasted, slack-jawed, blubbering, stuck-between-weeping-and-shouting father.

Isshin's face sweated bullets, and he'd gone blue from apprehension. His son?! Acting so deplorably in the kitchen?! Under his roof?! Finally, his mustered up enough sense to draw up his bottom lip in a scolding glare at his son.

Amidst the impending family squabble, little Midoriko – having the misfortune of getting stuck walking home with Yuzu and her terrifying sister, and then being found by their clownish dad – felt that her chances were better out in the rain. Surely, Beard-Face Ojisan would remember to call her parents (remember, this takes place before everyone and their unborn son had a cell phone) after he finished lunging over to his son – still beneath the black-haired girl – and grabbing fistfuls of his shirt.

"ICHIGO~! How could you?!" sobbed Isshin, still in between emotions as angry eyes overflowed with tears of paternal woe. "I raised you better than this! I know you're at that age, and you think that all girls think that way too! Sob! Sniff!" He took notice of the food staining Ichigo's shirtfront and fumed all the more for it."You could at least have waited to make a move until Tatsuki had put down the food!"

As Ichigo growled a threat at him after being dropped back to the floor, Isshin addressed Tatsuki, grabbing her shoulders and straightening her at arms' length. "Tatsuki-chan, what has my foul beast of a son done to you? I am so sorry for his prepubescent behavior! It's the puberty!" He leaned in close, eyes sharp and suspicious; Ichigo had turned into a ghost, his glares and threats of death unheard by his father. "Did… did he maul you?" he breathed heavily, bracing for the worst.

"Uh…" Was it really the right thing to ask the person above the other? A fat drop of nervous sweat formed at the back of her head. "No," was her weak-carrying answer.

"Are you alright?! I'll discipline my son!" He shook her in his passion. "You'll never have to deal with his brutish behavior again! Grk!"

Ichigo came up fast and knocked the point of his elbow into Isshin's chin, throwing his old man onto his back to cringe and cry out to his daughters how violently his own son treats him. Yuzu, as usual, was unfazed by her dad's cries – still in mourning of Ichigo's 'lost innocence' – while Karin callously said that he deserved worse for acting so dumb in front of company. She then looked at Tatsuki and Ichigo; she tossed them both two of the rice balls she picked up from the floor. "You better take your chance now, Ichi-nii," she grumbled with a motion to the stairs with her thumb.

"Yeah, thanks." Ichigo moved past his sister with Tatsuki awkwardly in tow; she briefly acknowledged the family in respectful greeting.

"And you owe me for the rice balls," Karin added.

"Yeah, thanks," Ichigo repeated flatly.

As they climbed the stairs, they heard Karin say to Midoriko, "I saw that you had leftovers from lunch. Give me some."

"Um… okay? C-can I call my mom now?"

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"Your dad's still spirited," Tatsuki said, unsure if she should smile or feel sorry for Ichigo.

"I barely ever bring anyone home," Ichigo confessed, sitting at his desk while she leaned on his bed. He looked to the side with a reproachful frown and spoke his mind, "I think my dad would get along with Keigo too well."

Tatsuki's eyes turned upward as she imagined such a team-up. The level of annoyance would surely surpass Ichigo's small level of tolerance for it.

Before she came back from the idea, a shirt was thrown into her face, and she immediately snapped at Ichigo as he also took another shirt for himself; he feigned ignorance when she shouted about him throwing things at her face. "You weren't paying attention," he excused himself casually. And just as casually, his messed shirt came off. Not a big deal… Not a big deal at all, Tatsuki thought with pursed lips while forcing herself to find the other side of the room more interesting than her friend's solid body. Not like he was any different than the men at dojos and tournaments that removed/tore off their shirts to emphasize their strength and show off the build of their body.

But Ichigo had that litheness to his frame, a restriction that she found…

Nothing!

She pushed those thought down, burying them under her frustrations with him and the fact that she was stuck here in his room, undressing in front of each other. Well, he was… and she needed to.

Casting Ichigo a look that was somewhat indistinguishable – he arched his eyebrow at her, for he hadn't seen her look at him that way since they had their final match in the dojo – she stood up as if in defiance of him. She strode to the door, then stopped short.

"What are you…?"

Ichigo's eyes bugged out, and he almost toppled in his seat when, in a swift move, she took off her shirt with the ease he'd shown. Covering the lower part of his enflamed face, anticipating a squirt from his nose, he condemned her lewdness!

"Who's lewd?" she barked back over her shoulder, holding the new shirt against her chest. "Just turn around if it bothers you so much!"

While she slipped on the shirt, and while he tried not to notice the expanse of her breasts from behind, he pointed out that she could have changed in the bathroom or his sisters' room or have him leave the room. "Your dad's acting up." She tugged the hem of the shirt, straightening it. "The less he sees of me, the better."

Ichigo was still blushing, but he had to agree. "Still…"

"Heh! You act like a prude," she teased, leaning forward, unintentionally showcasing the weight of her breasts as the shirt failed to support them. Her eyes narrowed, and she added, "But I know about your secret." She looked to the corner of his mattress, and there was a knowing gleam that made Ichigo's heart lunge into his throat.

"Wh-what are you talking about?!" His bluffs – particularly in matters such as these – were rather weak.

And Tatsuki was always willing to call him on them. A swift hand went to where her eyes had been trained, and before Ichigo could stand up or even tell her not to, she retrieved the magazine from underneath his mattress; a pink magazine with a dark-skinned woman on the cover, black hair just beneath her ears and a cocky smirk on her full lips, dressed only in tight jeans and a nice, clean pair of black boots. She was turned away from the camera, but her arm still crossed the expanse of her heavy bust.

The woman wasn't the topic – although gorgeous – but the magazine itself made Tatsuki snicker victoriously, and Ichigo was in stunned contempt. The slight smirk turned into a wide, toothy grin, and Tatsuki chuckled more; not malevolently, she said, "You're not so different from Asano after all."

"He's the one who gave that to me in the first place!" Ichigo leapt up to make a grab for the magazine. "He snuck it into my backpack two days ago!"

Tatsuki pulled out of his reach. "But you still have it?"

"How'd you even know?!"

"Ha-ha! I was alone in your room! I just guessed, and you were cliché!"

She laughed at Ichigo's panic and determination as he tried to lean over her to get back the nudie mag. She taunted him, he shot back at her, they tangled, and a hopeful leap brought them both down in a whirl; Ichigo, subconsciously, grabbing Tatsuki to him so she could fall on top of him, so he could cushion her fall.

They went down in a heap, the playboy soaring across the room. It was forgotten almost immediately. Their position, intimate and alone, stirred the feelings of two teenagers who normally masked their emotions beneath a tough façade. Tatsuki was the first to realize that she was on top of Ichigo; he was reeling a bit after his head thudded on the floorboards, but seeing Tatsuki, childhood friend and past karate rival, staring down at him like that… He gulped softly, hating how warm his cheeks started to feel. Her eyes; he'd never seen them so… shimmery, glazed. His heart struck his ribs like a hammer on an anvil. Whenever she had bested him in karate, pinned him in triumph, he could never get out beneath her weight. When did she become so light?

"T-Tat…?"

A flash of lightning, a thunderclap, and a kiss…

Not a fantasy, not a daydream, not a calculated theory in the realm of possibilities… A kiss, one that Tatsuki deliberately connected, one that she intended to give deep and passionate, almost squeezing Ichigo's ears as she pulled his face against hers. She kissed him, tenderly, then passionately, then like she was afraid to let him go; afraid of his reaction, afraid of his rejection. But let him go, she had to.

The moment of truth was preceded with palpable silence, and then…

"… Suki…"

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