[ Shiro collapsed on top of Ichigo, his hot chest molded to Ichigo's molten skin with sweat gluing them both together. Both of them were heaving with the after-effects of wild, hot, screaming sex. Shiro was still inside as well. Ichigo's lungs were burning with his constant desperate breaths and his mind was spinning from lack of oxygen. His lips were bruised and pink and there was even a tiny laceration on the edge; blood slid down his mouth but he swept it up with his tongue before it could get very far. His thighs were numb, and his arms felt like they were on fire due to how much he had been flexing them. Ichigo tried to steady his breathing, but his sweaty cheek was pressed deep into his pillow and he found that he was not only gasping, but also trembling. Ichigo tried to adjust himself, to move up on the bed, if only because having his legs folded up against his chest like this wasn't that comfortable for long. But, with liquified muscle, bone, and brain he wasn't doing much more than fitful squirming.
Managing, eventually, to try stretching his legs out beneath the heavy body on top of him. Something in the vicinity of his groin popped loudly, causing him to mumble an unintelligible noise of discomfort. He knew he was frowning. He couldn’t even really close his mouth. He could barely keep his eyes open, barely keep them focused on the hollow on top of him. It took quite a while, but he did manage to unfold enough to rest more comfortably under Shiro.
...But as awesome as that had been, there was a creeping sense of chilly guilt sneaking it's way into the post-coital haze. He shouldn't have done that. He should have had more restraint. Some part of him wanted to say he was sorry, but it would taste too much like a lie. Ichigo wasn't sorry for the sex, at least. That part was genuine, and wonderful...it was the reasons behind it. And his behavior. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
timeasmymeasure
no subject
Date: 2011-06-07 01:14 am (UTC)Ichigo's lungs were burning with his constant desperate breaths and his mind was spinning from lack of oxygen. His lips were bruised and pink and there was even a tiny laceration on the edge; blood slid down his mouth but he swept it up with his tongue before it could get very far. His thighs were numb, and his arms felt like they were on fire due to how much he had been flexing them. Ichigo tried to steady his breathing, but his sweaty cheek was pressed deep into his pillow and he found that he was not only gasping, but also trembling.
Ichigo tried to adjust himself, to move up on the bed, if only because having his legs folded up against his chest like this wasn't that comfortable for long. But, with liquified muscle, bone, and brain he wasn't doing much more than fitful squirming.
Managing, eventually, to try stretching his legs out beneath the heavy body on top of him. Something in the vicinity of his groin popped loudly, causing him to mumble an unintelligible noise of discomfort.
He knew he was frowning. He couldn’t even really close his mouth. He could barely keep his eyes open, barely keep them focused on the hollow on top of him. It took quite a while, but he did manage to unfold enough to rest more comfortably under Shiro.
...But as awesome as that had been, there was a creeping sense of chilly guilt sneaking it's way into the post-coital haze. He shouldn't have done that. He should have had more restraint. Some part of him wanted to say he was sorry, but it would taste too much like a lie. Ichigo wasn't sorry for the sex, at least. That part was genuine, and wonderful...it was the reasons behind it. And his behavior. ]