Ichigo pulled a face, breaking the heated kiss to shake his head a little. The weird, blue-ish gunk that passed for blood gets a rough wipe against the shoulder of Ichigo's shirt, clearing it away, then he recaptured the hollow's mouth with a hungry sound. Despite Shiro's struggling, Ichigo yanked both white wrists up, pushed both wrists into one hand, dn let long fingers resume the hold like a steel manacle around Shiro's hands. The freed hand grabbed the hem of Shiro's shirt, and yanked it up to his armpits, exposing the hard, alabaster white expanse of chest, and stomach. Ichigo broke off the kiss, and for just a beat looked down to be able to see. See that toned, lean body spread out under him, hips slotting together like puzzle pieces--
Oh, but Shiro squeezed with his thighs, and Ichigo's lips pulled back, away from teeth that weren't quite able to bite off the groan that sounded in response. Nor was Ichigo able ( or willing ) to stop his hips from snapping forward to grind down against Shiro's. It had been too damn long since anyone had touched Ichigo like this. Much less that hot, slicing, addictive way Shiro's white skin always managed to feel against his; like any moment Ichigo would catch on fire, and burn alive.
Black eyes snapped open again, and Ichigo lunged to nip at that certain spot on the hollow's throat that Shiro had always liked. Then drag his tongue over it. Licking, and sucking a temporary lovebite into being right there. Blindly, Ichigo pawed down to collar bones, then dragged his free hand down the long, muscled line of the hollow's belly, skimming just shy of his navel, then down. He flattened his hand to palm the strong, smooth line of Shiro's hip, digging blunt, human fingertips in - then shoved his whole hand past the waistband of Shiro's jeans, and squeezed the muscled curve of Shiro's ass with a growl.
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Oh, but Shiro squeezed with his thighs, and Ichigo's lips pulled back, away from teeth that weren't quite able to bite off the groan that sounded in response. Nor was Ichigo able ( or willing ) to stop his hips from snapping forward to grind down against Shiro's. It had been too damn long since anyone had touched Ichigo like this. Much less that hot, slicing, addictive way Shiro's white skin always managed to feel against his; like any moment Ichigo would catch on fire, and burn alive.
Black eyes snapped open again, and Ichigo lunged to nip at that certain spot on the hollow's throat that Shiro had always liked. Then drag his tongue over it. Licking, and sucking a temporary lovebite into being right there.
Blindly, Ichigo pawed down to collar bones, then dragged his free hand down the long, muscled line of the hollow's belly, skimming just shy of his navel, then down. He flattened his hand to palm the strong, smooth line of Shiro's hip, digging blunt, human fingertips in - then shoved his whole hand past the waistband of Shiro's jeans, and squeezed the muscled curve of Shiro's ass with a growl.
Mine.