[ Ichigo's thoughts are effectively melting. The feel of heat radiating through his tented jeans driving him mad as Ichigo pushed, and arched his hips to grind tighter against the hollow in his lap. But, even with the drowning sense of reason, Ichigo forced his glazed eyes open, and leaned his head back enough to get a good look at Shiro. He wanted there to be some part of his memories of this to not just be limited to fast, frenzied touches, and messy kisses. Scowling around the fierce blush, and gulped breath, he had to fight the hold of Shiro's tail around his wrist in order to get both hands on the hollow's hips. With a lurch, and the blessing of Shiro clinging to him so tightly, Ichigo did manage to lean forward enough to lay both of them out on the roof; the hollow on his back, and a groan muffled against a white chest as the heat, and friction, even through his jeans, from settling between Shiro's legs was enough to make the heat twist hot, and tight in the pit of his gut. ]
Then...doing it my way. Tell me if you don't like it, okay?
[ Because for all that he had a little bit of experience to draw on, Ichigo wanted this to feel good for Shiro, too. Apparently, he truly did make love like he fought; all or nothing, and always in fairness. Pushing himself back just enough to think, he pointedly keeps his eyes shut, and the look of concentration on his expression soon yields a little bottle next to his single hand, still flat against the roof. Peeking one eye open, Ichigo can't help a nervous smirk - unscented, plain lotion. What? He's never seen a bottle of lube in his life. And, hopefully before Shiro can get too many comments in about it, sits back to kneel before the hollow, and hastily unzips his fly. Moving back to hover, supported on one hand over him, he Coats the other palm with the lotion. Nibbling on an ear, he encloses his hand around Shiro's growing erection, squeezing exactly as he prefers it, twisting gently around the head before stroking up and down, setting a basic rhythm. ]
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But, even with the drowning sense of reason, Ichigo forced his glazed eyes open, and leaned his head back enough to get a good look at Shiro. He wanted there to be some part of his memories of this to not just be limited to fast, frenzied touches, and messy kisses. Scowling around the fierce blush, and gulped breath, he had to fight the hold of Shiro's tail around his wrist in order to get both hands on the hollow's hips. With a lurch, and the blessing of Shiro clinging to him so tightly, Ichigo did manage to lean forward enough to lay both of them out on the roof; the hollow on his back, and a groan muffled against a white chest as the heat, and friction, even through his jeans, from settling between Shiro's legs was enough to make the heat twist hot, and tight in the pit of his gut. ]
Then...doing it my way. Tell me if you don't like it, okay?
[ Because for all that he had a little bit of experience to draw on, Ichigo wanted this to feel good for Shiro, too. Apparently, he truly did make love like he fought; all or nothing, and always in fairness.
Pushing himself back just enough to think, he pointedly keeps his eyes shut, and the look of concentration on his expression soon yields a little bottle next to his single hand, still flat against the roof. Peeking one eye open, Ichigo can't help a nervous smirk - unscented, plain lotion. What? He's never seen a bottle of lube in his life. And, hopefully before Shiro can get too many comments in about it, sits back to kneel before the hollow, and hastily unzips his fly. Moving back to hover, supported on one hand over him, he Coats the other palm with the lotion. Nibbling on an ear, he encloses his hand around Shiro's growing erection, squeezing exactly as he prefers it, twisting gently around the head before stroking up and down, setting a basic rhythm. ]
...Doesn't...doesn't always have to hurt.