[ When Ichigo pushes both hands into his hair and pulls it back, Byakuya exhales perhaps a bit too fast, his scalp tingling pleasantly and his cock jerking between their bodies. He's never been particularly aware of his hair - he keeps it at the same length, the same style to account for the kenseikan and that's where his investment usually ends. He's thought about cutting it down to nothing more than once, just for the bonus of losing the kenseikan for the time it would take to grow it out again. If grandfather didn't have to wear them, no one does.
All the same, of course he's kept them. The drama of doing things in unconventional ways - he's already too well-known for that. For choosing the odd paths in life.And now, the length of his hair feels important for other reasons, too, reasons he can't quite articulate. How very typical of this man, to put things where he didn't know there was emptiness. Eyes closed, he kisses Ichigo back, meeting him thrust for thrust, the water from the shower mixing with their saliva and masking the taste of him just a bit, just enough that he notices.
Yes, he thinks, and feels himself thrusting back when Ichigo pushes up against him, their cocks sliding together and sending sparks of pleasure shooting into his groin. Byakuya is well-known for making unpopular decisions. He cradles Ichigo's hair between his fingers and breaks the kiss, tilting his head a little to the side to kiss a wet trail down his jawline, to his throat. He allows himself the brief, brief indulgence of imagining Ichigo in his life, as a fixture.
He already is, in a way.
On a sudden impulse, he frees his other hand and runs it down his back, across his waist. Firmly, he grabs hold of one of his buttocks and digs his fingers in, enough to spread him a fraction, water tracking down the crack of his arse in thin rivulets. He pulls back, looking up at his face curiously. Waiting for his reaction, not even fully certain what he's asking. ]
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All the same, of course he's kept them. The drama of doing things in unconventional ways - he's already too well-known for that. For choosing the odd paths in life.And now, the length of his hair feels important for other reasons, too, reasons he can't quite articulate. How very typical of this man, to put things where he didn't know there was emptiness. Eyes closed, he kisses Ichigo back, meeting him thrust for thrust, the water from the shower mixing with their saliva and masking the taste of him just a bit, just enough that he notices.
Yes, he thinks, and feels himself thrusting back when Ichigo pushes up against him, their cocks sliding together and sending sparks of pleasure shooting into his groin. Byakuya is well-known for making unpopular decisions. He cradles Ichigo's hair between his fingers and breaks the kiss, tilting his head a little to the side to kiss a wet trail down his jawline, to his throat. He allows himself the brief, brief indulgence of imagining Ichigo in his life, as a fixture.
He already is, in a way.
On a sudden impulse, he frees his other hand and runs it down his back, across his waist. Firmly, he grabs hold of one of his buttocks and digs his fingers in, enough to spread him a fraction, water tracking down the crack of his arse in thin rivulets. He pulls back, looking up at his face curiously. Waiting for his reaction, not even fully certain what he's asking. ]