[ Relax, he says, like it's that easy. Byakuya pushes back against him, into the kiss, slipping his tongue past his lips on an impulse, probably born from the feeling of his shirt coming undone across his chest. A heated spark ignites in his belly, almost foreign after so many years but impossible to ignore or misinterpret. He makes a rough sound into Ichigo's mouth, grasping at his shirt with both hands before pulling it up, urging the other man to move enough to get it off. He drops it onto the floor somewhere, uncaringly, breaking the kiss in the process for what feels like much, much too long.
Then, as he settles back down against the bed, he looks up at the other man. Shirtless, Ichigo should be a stranger like this - after all, it's not like they've ever... But he isn't, of course, the battlefield is many things and whilst intimate isn't necessarily the right word, it's certainly a place of physical proximity. Of layers shedding, of personal boundaries being unlocked. In that regard, perhaps it's not so different and perhaps that's why, when he looks at Ichigo now, everything about him feels familiar.
Gaze softening a fraction, he runs his hands up his back, muscled and strong, exactly as strong as he looks. His fingers dig in just a little harshly along his shoulderblades before he pulls him down towards himself, closer again, leaning in to mouth at his neck below his ear. He follows an invisible trail down the side of his neck, tasting salt and hints of musk on the way.
The heat in his body, in his blood, is slowly but surely starting to feel like urgency. To have another against him like this after such a long time would in itself be a shock to his system but for the person in question to be Ichigo is nearly impossible to comprehend. His mind is pulling next to no strings at the moment - instead, when he twists his leg in between Ichigo's and presses his thigh upwards, he's running on instinct and the thought alone is intoxicating. It's such a rare feeling, to be mindless.
no subject
Then, as he settles back down against the bed, he looks up at the other man. Shirtless, Ichigo should be a stranger like this - after all, it's not like they've ever... But he isn't, of course, the battlefield is many things and whilst intimate isn't necessarily the right word, it's certainly a place of physical proximity. Of layers shedding, of personal boundaries being unlocked. In that regard, perhaps it's not so different and perhaps that's why, when he looks at Ichigo now, everything about him feels familiar.
Gaze softening a fraction, he runs his hands up his back, muscled and strong, exactly as strong as he looks. His fingers dig in just a little harshly along his shoulderblades before he pulls him down towards himself, closer again, leaning in to mouth at his neck below his ear. He follows an invisible trail down the side of his neck, tasting salt and hints of musk on the way.
The heat in his body, in his blood, is slowly but surely starting to feel like urgency. To have another against him like this after such a long time would in itself be a shock to his system but for the person in question to be Ichigo is nearly impossible to comprehend. His mind is pulling next to no strings at the moment - instead, when he twists his leg in between Ichigo's and presses his thigh upwards, he's running on instinct and the thought alone is intoxicating. It's such a rare feeling, to be mindless.
To be safe throughout is usually impossible. ]