Story: Cat Claws and Bee Stings (all chapters)

Authors: bleeding.blade

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Chapter 1

Title: Bee Stings

[Author's notes:

PREFACE: In the end notes to my first Yorusoi fiction, Cat Paws And Bee Wings, I apologized to readers for completing the story on a fairly mild note. As promised, this sequel presents a glimpse of their life some time after the events of the first story transpired. I hope you enjoy it :0)

NOTES: Although the fiction below can be read independently of its predecessor, its symbolism and tonality derive a lot from the story that went before it. So for readers who can spare the time and energy, I do recommend you read Cat Paws And Bee Wings first. You can easily find it in the "Bleach" archive or among the stories listed under my pen name.

DISCLAIMER: The characters of Bleach are the creations of Tite Kubo and various associated publishers and producers and are therefore not my property


She likes slinking in the shadows, padding on quiet little cat feet. She likes anticipating what lies in the sunshine beyond the shade; likes knowing what she will find, knowing that her quarry is there (as she always is, everyday, at this time in the morning).

She never tires of discovering the sunlit figure, gazes at it with gleaming little cat eyes. She sits quietly, eyes closed, palms open, hair fluttering gently in the morning breeze. The cat sits and waits; waits by studying the delicate features, the ivory skin, the quietly fluttering ebony hair. She has kissed those features, ravished that skin, run her fingers (not as a cat, but cat-like still) through that gently waving hair. During those times, she doesn't sit quietly, though her eyes remain closed, and her palms remain open (straining against supple, caramel skin), while her hair fans around her, curling in damp, delicious tendrils.

The cat thinks of these things while waiting, and by thinking grows impatient, gleaming little cat eyes lit by smoldering human desire.

Until finally, she opens her eyes, and curves her reserved lips into an affectionate, welcoming smile. The cat purrs and jumps into her arms, starts licking the delicate ivory neck, until the lotus-seated figure chuckles and fondly strokes the ebony fur. The cat stretches - then catches a slender finger and bites. It's not a nap she wants, and she tells the seated figure by licking her bleeding hand.


She emerges from the shadows, stalking quietly on shapely human legs. Her quarry sits on the bed, a harmonica on her lips, until she sees the naked figure and other harmonies begin to play. They stare at each other in the silence, in the calm before the storm, until she feels the tingle in her recently bloodied hand.

The goddess moves first (the goddess moves faster) and a throaty chuckle (or is it a throaty purr?) escapes her sensuous lips. A smile forms on her quarry's ivory features; she is trapped but will not stay trapped for long. She raises herself from between her goddess's legs - lets her goddess-pinned arms remain restrained - and fastens her mouth on a caramel nipple. The goddess gasps; her hands abandon the ivory arms and wrap themselves in the ebony hair. Somewhere close to her feline heart, a delicate tongue begins to lick. And somewhere between her shapely legs, an ivory hand begins to play.


Hours later, as the harmonies wind down, as lazy ivory hands stroke the sated caramel skin, delicate lips graze the goddess's neck, and pleasure and pain combine at a single point. And just what did you do, my little bee? Mischievous blue eyes look up at amused golden ones. What little bees do to biting cats - leave tiny little bee stings where they can be seen. Golden eyes flash, and all around them, the harmonies begin to play again.

Chapter 2

Title: Cat Claws

She likes sitting in the sunshine, meditating in the gentle morning breeze. She likes retreating into the stillness, likes lying on the quiet shore; likes knowing that the waves will bring an ebony cat (as they always do, eventually; as they have for countless days now).

She likes hearing the pad of silent little cat feet, likes feeling the stare of gleaming little cat eyes. She likes the feel of the ebony fur underneath her hands (though she infinitely prefers the feel of caramel skin, can feel it even now, in the stillness, the waves beginning to shift restlessly against her suddenly unquiet shore). She lets the waves settle with a sigh, knowing that the gleaming eyes are watching, knowing that the feral form will exploit this weakness. The shore is her sanctuary, but it also keeps her and the ebony cat safe.

When she leaves the stillness, she opens her eyes and smiles. The cat is there waiting, impatience in its golden eyes.

It jumps into her waiting arms, rubs itself against her neck and cheek. It is these displays of unguarded feline affection, even more than the caramel caresses, that tell her she is loved. She strokes the ebony fur, scratches behind the ebony ears - and is rewarded by a stinging flash of sharp white teeth. It is this display of wanton feline cruelty, even more than the human invitations, that tell her she is desired.


She gazes hypnotized at the goddess, the harmonica's music dying on her lips. No matter how many times she has seen that nakedness, has tasted it and possessed it, it never fails to stun her, never fails to bludgeon her senses into submission. It reminds her - and it warns her - of how easy it is to worship, how easy it is to abandon the quiet shore and plunge into the drowning waters.

But she stays on the shore, and remains the shore, partly because of her strength (the strength her goddess loves) and partly because of her goddess' weakness (the weakness she eventually loved). She knows she can bring the goddess to her knees; has taken the goddess on her knees (and other ways besides). Right now the goddess kneels above her, a purring chuckle on her sensuous lips. She smiles and raises her head, wanting the taste of caramel skin. She knows she will lose herself eventually (as she always does, as she has for countless days now); knows that the waters will rise and drown her in caramel-colored waves, until the shore disappears, and until another kind of stillness is born.


Hours later, as the waves recede, as warm caramel hands stroke trembling ivory skin, delicate arms cling to a goddess's neck and a throaty chuckle is heard. My poor, swamped little bee...She feels the goddess shift, feels the graze across an ivory shoulder. What was that for? Trusting, puzzled blue eyes look at amused, possessive golden ones. It's the mark of a cat's claw. The mark that shows you're mine. She smiles and nuzzles the caramel neck. You don't need to leave a sign. It's already obvious that I'm yours. She nestles deeper into the goddess's embrace, and all around them gentle waves surround the quiet shore.

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