The pit of his stomach was lit afire as the feedback scraped through again and again, hollowing Ichigo out with each passing, until he thought he was left with a shell so brittle he might simply fly apart and ruin all of Rukia's hard work to put him back together.

Not caring about the mess, or the embarrassment of the fact there was no way that the others that shared this living space hadn't heard, or know about that, Ichigo wriggled his wrist out from being sandwiched in between them, and wrapped himself around Shiro. His arms, and legs felt numb, clumsy with exhaustion, and little trembling aftershocks still ratcheted up his thighs at random.

But he curled up, dragging the white body as close as he could get Shiro, leaning in cheek to cheek...and not really even noticing the dry hiccuping little breaths that were escaping him right now. You couldn't really call it crying, because his eyes were completely dry...but it was sobbing all the same.

With the hurt still there, but the anger spent, and the mixture of relief, rejection, then aggressive sex, Ichigo was a mess. As Ichigo's own ears stopped ringing, he made an effort to gulp back the hot, desperate breaths. Shiro would just have to deal with Ichigo tucking his head under the hollow's chin for now. He needed the simple reassurance that Shiro was close. That he was there...and that whether it was love, or hate, Ichigo still needed Shiro.