[ He doesn't smile against Ichigo's skin, though his chest warms in amusement at his words. He isn't truly teasing him, at least not on purpose but just to acknowledge the hypothesis for what it is - understandable and logical, even - he leaves Ichigo's nipple alone and shifts downwards, nibbling his way down his midriff and leaving pink marks in his wake. Ichigo, in turn, has loosened his hair and now, it truly goes everywhere - his shoulders, his chin, his face - in a way that always reminds him of the times he's accidentally kept it too long, leaving it skirting past the safe zone of Senbonzakura and consequently, five inches shorter in the aftermath.
These days, it hardly matters. He could grow it waist-length, basically, with how little he uses Bankai. Glancing up at Ichigo, his chest softening another fraction at how he's clearly trying to keep still beneath him, to let himself receive, he decides that he just might. Grow it out.
Give him something to hold onto. ]
You are doing fine, as well.
[ He speaks against Ichigo's skin, lips sliding over the space between his midriff and his navel, his chin close enough to his cock that he might just touch it if he dips his head. Instead, he shifts down between his legs until he's got his cock more or less in his face, big and hard and beautifully pink at the tip. Swallowing down a moan at the sight alone, he gets comfortable on his elbows, caging Ichigo's hips in along the way and folding his fingers around the base carefully.
Like that, he angles it outwards, tilts his head a little to the side and leans down to lick a wet trail beneath the head, lapping at the shaft afterwards. He tastes like musk and sweat - like sex, basically, but distilled - and the feeling actually makes him hard again. This time, he doesn't hide the moan from the depths of his throat. Instead, he folds his other hand across Ichigo's belly as another weight, not to keep him still but to anchor him. He folds his hand more firmly around his shaft, parts his lips and takes the head into his mouth, letting him take up all the space he needs and breathing slowly out. ]
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These days, it hardly matters. He could grow it waist-length, basically, with how little he uses Bankai. Glancing up at Ichigo, his chest softening another fraction at how he's clearly trying to keep still beneath him, to let himself receive, he decides that he just might. Grow it out.
Give him something to hold onto. ]
You are doing fine, as well.
[ He speaks against Ichigo's skin, lips sliding over the space between his midriff and his navel, his chin close enough to his cock that he might just touch it if he dips his head. Instead, he shifts down between his legs until he's got his cock more or less in his face, big and hard and beautifully pink at the tip. Swallowing down a moan at the sight alone, he gets comfortable on his elbows, caging Ichigo's hips in along the way and folding his fingers around the base carefully.
Like that, he angles it outwards, tilts his head a little to the side and leans down to lick a wet trail beneath the head, lapping at the shaft afterwards. He tastes like musk and sweat - like sex, basically, but distilled - and the feeling actually makes him hard again. This time, he doesn't hide the moan from the depths of his throat. Instead, he folds his other hand across Ichigo's belly as another weight, not to keep him still but to anchor him. He folds his hand more firmly around his shaft, parts his lips and takes the head into his mouth, letting him take up all the space he needs and breathing slowly out. ]