[ Though he doesn't reply in words, Ichigo's face - his eyes - say much by themselves and Byakuya wonders fleeting what he would have seen back then, if he'd been able to see enough to make out his features. As it is, he looks at him now instead, at the way his eyes soften, his expression wide-eyed, a newness to it that doesn't have anything to do with youth. He's beautiful, he realises, and although that's a very new realisation, it doesn't come as any grand surprise. Perhaps a part of him has always known, deep down and buried beneath layers of grief and all the lonely rituals associated with it, that he didn't mind. Looking at him.
So he looks now, too, though his eyes fall shut when Ichigo closes the distance between them once more and kisses him, roughly, his tongue filling his mouth with that same, undeniable insistence that Ichigo seems to have in most aspects of life. Iron will, determination. He sighs into the kiss and reaches for Ichigo's hair, fingers curling within it, gently at first, then a little harsher as the heat in his balls and abdomen grow stronger. He groans into Ichigo's mouth and tightens his grip, holding his head still and angling it slightly to the side. Like that, he slips his tongue into his mouth, taking up space and tasting him in turn.
When Ichigo speeds up his strokes, he mirrors him again, following suit. On his next upstroke, he pushes his palm over the head of his cock, rubbing the slit and feeling the wetness there, his own cock leaking in response. Gasping, he pushes into Ichigo's grip and keeps his own hand going steadfastly, barely even thinking about it now, pleasure building in his body and overriding most other impressions.
He realises he's heading towards his climax with an almost distant sense of wonder. If this is a dream, he thinks, he'll gladly exchange it for the dreams he tends to have now, by himself when Senbonzakura is restless; even if it means he'll wake up to nothing. Even then, he would still... He breaks the kiss and pushes his face back against Ichigo's shoulder, brow furrowed, as he pushes himself towards the edge, pulling Ichigo along with him. ]
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So he looks now, too, though his eyes fall shut when Ichigo closes the distance between them once more and kisses him, roughly, his tongue filling his mouth with that same, undeniable insistence that Ichigo seems to have in most aspects of life. Iron will, determination. He sighs into the kiss and reaches for Ichigo's hair, fingers curling within it, gently at first, then a little harsher as the heat in his balls and abdomen grow stronger. He groans into Ichigo's mouth and tightens his grip, holding his head still and angling it slightly to the side. Like that, he slips his tongue into his mouth, taking up space and tasting him in turn.
When Ichigo speeds up his strokes, he mirrors him again, following suit. On his next upstroke, he pushes his palm over the head of his cock, rubbing the slit and feeling the wetness there, his own cock leaking in response. Gasping, he pushes into Ichigo's grip and keeps his own hand going steadfastly, barely even thinking about it now, pleasure building in his body and overriding most other impressions.
He realises he's heading towards his climax with an almost distant sense of wonder. If this is a dream, he thinks, he'll gladly exchange it for the dreams he tends to have now, by himself when Senbonzakura is restless; even if it means he'll wake up to nothing. Even then, he would still... He breaks the kiss and pushes his face back against Ichigo's shoulder, brow furrowed, as he pushes himself towards the edge, pulling Ichigo along with him. ]