Ichigo easily slid in to press against Shiro with a shivery sigh of part-relief, part-hunger. He was happy to indulge in sucking on the hollow's lower lip, hands pressing into the small of Shiro's back, his shoulder--

And then a muffled grumble from behind the hand pressed against his mouth. Frowning, he blinked his eyes open...and looked at Shiro for a moment, hands going still.
That. Could be difficult. Shiro didn't think any of Ichigo's reasons were good ones, after all. But, going still, he knew that whether Shiro thought it was a good reason, or not, Ichigo really didn't want to make his friends worry about him. And he wasn't that keen on getting his ass kicked, anyway, thanks.

Alright. I promise that I won't come back bloody unless there's a damn good reason.

Making Ichigo realize he was actually important was a tall order. All he could recognize was that by getting hurt, himself, then Shiro must be feeling that pain. That wouldn't do.

Impatiently he turned his head a bit, but kept his eyes locked with Shiro's while he drew a white middle finger between his teeth, then sucked. Tongue curling eagerly around the single digit, Ichigo let the finger pump easily in, and out of damp lips with the same languorous indulgence reserved for extremely tasty deserts.

...Or other, more fun activities involving his tongue.