Ichigo feels almost bereft when he finally parts his lips and releases Shiro's throat, but he doesn't hesitate to arch his back, and spread his thighs. Ichigo shifts to put his clawed hand around Shiro's opposing bicep, leaning his weight forward to pin the hollow while Shiro's hand dips between his legs, to find that spot and—
"Ahn! Y-You bastard."
Ichigo thinks he might be swearing, but it's hard to be sure through the pounding rush of his own pulse roaring in his ears. His breath comes in a choked gasp, and his spine bows, and claws dig into the blankets next to Shiro's head. Ichigo's hips try to twist, either to escape the sting, or get into it, but Shiro doesn't stop; the pleasure is instant and overwhelming, and in a disconnected corner of his brain Ichigo realizes the hollow is pressing his fingers even deeper. He's stroking Ichigo somewhere deep and intimate, in a way that's curious and clever and making Ichigo's stomach twist tight.
It takes Ichigo another moment to realize his eyes are closed. Opening them requires monumental effort, and when he does he finds mirrored black, and gold staring up at him. Then something glints behind those eyes — something mischievous and dangerous — and Shiro withdraws, pulling his hand back. Then, before Ichigo's snarl can protest his retreat, Shiro reenters with as much smoothly oiled force as before.
Ichigo knows he's swearing now. He's gasping and cursing and hissing Shiro's name as the hollow's fingers work him open. The world has gone blurry and disconnected, held together by nothing but the weight of Shiro's eyes, the weight of his hand on the small of Ichigo's back, keeping him from bucking into the rough touch, the sensation of Shiro's fingers twisting and stroking inside him.
Ichigo shivers, sliding forward again to all but lay out along the hollow's chest, thighs spread with bent knees helping him rock his hips back into each harsh push of fingers, and scratch of claws against his spine. But, even for how much Ichigo was losing himself in the moment, he kept his weight firmly forward, pinning Shiro's arm down with cutting claws of his own. And with a badly swallowed moan, turned into the bite on his shoulder in order to capture Shiro's mouth in a heated kiss. All tongue, and teeth, and as much a battle as the rest. But this one a matter of push, and pull, and reveling in the sheer pleasure of the moment, rather than trying to make the hollow submit.
He couldn't, after all, not when Shiro was touching him - ohhh, touching him like that! Not when his hips were still grinding down against a matching white set beneath, and setting him on fire from his groin to the hot, fizzling sensation behind Ichigo's cheekbones.
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timeasmymeasure
no subject
Date: 2012-04-11 06:41 am (UTC)"Ahn! Y-You bastard."
Ichigo thinks he might be swearing, but it's hard to be sure through the pounding rush of his own pulse roaring in his ears. His breath comes in a choked gasp, and his spine bows, and claws dig into the blankets next to Shiro's head. Ichigo's hips try to twist, either to escape the sting, or get into it, but Shiro doesn't stop; the pleasure is instant and overwhelming, and in a disconnected corner of his brain Ichigo realizes the hollow is pressing his fingers even deeper. He's stroking Ichigo somewhere deep and intimate, in a way that's curious and clever and making Ichigo's stomach twist tight.
It takes Ichigo another moment to realize his eyes are closed. Opening them requires monumental effort, and when he does he finds mirrored black, and gold staring up at him. Then something glints behind those eyes — something mischievous and dangerous — and Shiro withdraws, pulling his hand back. Then, before Ichigo's snarl can protest his retreat, Shiro reenters with as much smoothly oiled force as before.
Ichigo knows he's swearing now. He's gasping and cursing and hissing Shiro's name as the hollow's fingers work him open. The world has gone blurry and disconnected, held together by nothing but the weight of Shiro's eyes, the weight of his hand on the small of Ichigo's back, keeping him from bucking into the rough touch, the sensation of Shiro's fingers twisting and stroking inside him.
Ichigo shivers, sliding forward again to all but lay out along the hollow's chest, thighs spread with bent knees helping him rock his hips back into each harsh push of fingers, and scratch of claws against his spine. But, even for how much Ichigo was losing himself in the moment, he kept his weight firmly forward, pinning Shiro's arm down with cutting claws of his own. And with a badly swallowed moan, turned into the bite on his shoulder in order to capture Shiro's mouth in a heated kiss. All tongue, and teeth, and as much a battle as the rest. But this one a matter of push, and pull, and reveling in the sheer pleasure of the moment, rather than trying to make the hollow submit.
He couldn't, after all, not when Shiro was touching him - ohhh, touching him like that! Not when his hips were still grinding down against a matching white set beneath, and setting him on fire from his groin to the hot, fizzling sensation behind Ichigo's cheekbones.