Ichigo hissed at the stinging cut, eyes closing even as his hand tensed to grab one handful of Shiro's t-shirt.
He’s hushed with a mouth sealing over his, lips and tongue insistent. Ichigo leans back onto the bed, dragging Shiro with him, while Shiro slides in between his legs like he’s always meant to be right there. His hands skim over Shiro’s chest and even with the layer of fabric in between Ichigo feels the echo of every press and slide; unlike the direct touch to his skin, this touch is a fast-fading impression like a brilliant spark of energy, making the press on his senses more intense and as tantalizing as the anticipation and the shivering ghostly trail it leaves behind.
Curling his legs, Ichigo uses his heel to press on the back of Shiro's thigh, encouraging the hollow to fit himself against Ichigo's chest. It feels so good, so goddamn good to feel the warmth of solid muscle, and the familiar weight of his hollow's tail wrapping around his calf possessively. Groaning into Shiro's mouth, Ichigo can't help the needy pawing at Shiro's hair, the slick press of tongue, despite the taste of blood mixed up in the kiss, and cinching his thighs tighter around white hips in a bid to encourage Shiro into more.
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2012-03-11 03:31 am (UTC)He’s hushed with a mouth sealing over his, lips and tongue insistent. Ichigo leans back onto the bed, dragging Shiro with him, while Shiro slides in between his legs like he’s always meant to be right there. His hands skim over Shiro’s chest and even with the layer of fabric in between Ichigo feels the echo of every press and slide; unlike the direct touch to his skin, this touch is a fast-fading impression like a brilliant spark of energy, making the press on his senses more intense and as tantalizing as the anticipation and the shivering ghostly trail it leaves behind.
Curling his legs, Ichigo uses his heel to press on the back of Shiro's thigh, encouraging the hollow to fit himself against Ichigo's chest. It feels so good, so goddamn good to feel the warmth of solid muscle, and the familiar weight of his hollow's tail wrapping around his calf possessively. Groaning into Shiro's mouth, Ichigo can't help the needy pawing at Shiro's hair, the slick press of tongue, despite the taste of blood mixed up in the kiss, and cinching his thighs tighter around white hips in a bid to encourage Shiro into more.