[ He wakes up when Byakuya gets up. His instinctual reaction is to reach out and grab his hand, where it rests briefly against Ichigo's hip, but he manages to hold back, reminding himself blearily that Byakuya is here on a mission from Renji, specifically, and honestly he's budged enough into his working hours at this point, hasn't he? So, he lets the other man go, listening for his footfalls, extremely quiet, but Ichigo has ears attuned to listening for two little rascal sisters, and follows him all the way to the bathroom. Door closing. Shower turned on. He imagines Byakuya naked under the spray, his hair...
With a sigh, he rolls over onto his back, wiping at his face with a flat hand to get the remnants of drool off his skin and to just feel himself for a moment. Yeah, he's beginning to regret -- not that they did it, that they had sex, but that time isn't so that they can just do it all day today, get to know each other like that. One time and then being away from each other who knows how long... seems kinda a poor start.
Or maybe he's just being selfish. He wants Byakuya to do his job, too. Or else Ichigo would have to do it for him. Come on, he has studies to keep up with.
Still, when Byakuya is done showering and comes out into the main suite again, Ichigo sits up slowly, keeping one sheet pooling over his lap in a weirdly self-conscious display - and he follows him with his eyes this time as he starts getting dressed, admiring his wet hair for a long moment, realizing how long it really is. Inky black. Must be heavy. He's pulling on pants and Ichigo regrets, again, that he can't just walk over and stop him, sink to his knees in front of him and suck his cock. Just, not stop here. Not leave. Not be apart again. The thought, very vivid in his mind, immediately makes Ichigo blush crimson and he looks down at his own sheet-covered lap where his cock's reacting in response, waking up quickly. Geez.
He takes a long, deep, supposedly calming breath, not that it's working. Not that that ever really works for him, right? Then, he says, quietly, not watching Byakuya put on the rest of his clothes. He still looks slightly strange, unfamiliar, in modern clothing. ]
[ Though he isn't looking back as obviously, he can feel Ichigo's gaze following him through the room, throughout his motions of putting on clothes - all of it too tight for his liking. A part of him can't wait to shed this gigai and get back to his regular shape, his uniform. Most of him, though, is also acutely aware that once he steps out of his current body, he takes another step away from what it has become over the night and the thought alone makes him ache in many different places. He pushes his wet hair back, out of his face, before searching through his pockets for the thin, black hairband that he keeps as a poor substitute for his kenseikan.
Once he finds it, he straightens up. Stares out of the window for a long moment at the traffic hurtling along on the streets below. We'll figure something out, says Ichigo, seated by the headboard, his naked upperbody bared whilst he's hidden away the rest of himself. Like that, he looks his age - young but harshly experienced in all the most painful aspects of life. Last night was something better, was it not? It broke the monotony of Byakuya's life, certainly, and as he'd expected, as he'd known, the thought of stepping back into it is nearly enough to make him dig his heels in, ignore the fact of his duty, his arrangements, the man who's waiting for him loyally in the outskirts of Kyoto.
It's nearly enough to make him senseless.
Jaw setting, he raises his chin and forces the feelings down, away, unbecoming as they are, selfish and irresponsible. Instead, he ties his hair back in a sloppy ponytail, his bangs hanging down the sides of his face, and looks Ichigo over for another long moment. ]
Yes.
[ They will get past this point and from then, Byakuya will take the next step and remember that survival in face of loss or disappointment is not a possibility, it's something you owe the ones you want to protect. Happiness, he thinks, comes later, if at all. He was happy yesterday. Tonight. That can be enough.
Yes, such decisiveness is easy enough when you think about it. The ache in his chest, however, is a different story and though he probably should, he refuses to ignore it - instead, he crosses the distance between them, leans down and folds his hand against the back of Ichigo's head, fingers slipping into his hair slowly. His grip isn't rough but there's strength behind it all the same, strength that he couldn't deny even if he wanted to. Like that, he kisses him, pressing past his lips, filling him up, knowing very well that time is passing, that he's already late. ]
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saviorcomplexed) wrote2025-03-17 12:16 pm
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With a sigh, he rolls over onto his back, wiping at his face with a flat hand to get the remnants of drool off his skin and to just feel himself for a moment. Yeah, he's beginning to regret -- not that they did it, that they had sex, but that time isn't so that they can just do it all day today, get to know each other like that. One time and then being away from each other who knows how long... seems kinda a poor start.
Or maybe he's just being selfish. He wants Byakuya to do his job, too. Or else Ichigo would have to do it for him. Come on, he has studies to keep up with.
Still, when Byakuya is done showering and comes out into the main suite again, Ichigo sits up slowly, keeping one sheet pooling over his lap in a weirdly self-conscious display - and he follows him with his eyes this time as he starts getting dressed, admiring his wet hair for a long moment, realizing how long it really is. Inky black. Must be heavy. He's pulling on pants and Ichigo regrets, again, that he can't just walk over and stop him, sink to his knees in front of him and suck his cock. Just, not stop here. Not leave. Not be apart again. The thought, very vivid in his mind, immediately makes Ichigo blush crimson and he looks down at his own sheet-covered lap where his cock's reacting in response, waking up quickly. Geez.
He takes a long, deep, supposedly calming breath, not that it's working. Not that that ever really works for him, right? Then, he says, quietly, not watching Byakuya put on the rest of his clothes. He still looks slightly strange, unfamiliar, in modern clothing. ]
We'll figure something out, huh.
no subject
Once he finds it, he straightens up. Stares out of the window for a long moment at the traffic hurtling along on the streets below. We'll figure something out, says Ichigo, seated by the headboard, his naked upperbody bared whilst he's hidden away the rest of himself. Like that, he looks his age - young but harshly experienced in all the most painful aspects of life. Last night was something better, was it not? It broke the monotony of Byakuya's life, certainly, and as he'd expected, as he'd known, the thought of stepping back into it is nearly enough to make him dig his heels in, ignore the fact of his duty, his arrangements, the man who's waiting for him loyally in the outskirts of Kyoto.
It's nearly enough to make him senseless.
Jaw setting, he raises his chin and forces the feelings down, away, unbecoming as they are, selfish and irresponsible. Instead, he ties his hair back in a sloppy ponytail, his bangs hanging down the sides of his face, and looks Ichigo over for another long moment. ]
Yes.
[ They will get past this point and from then, Byakuya will take the next step and remember that survival in face of loss or disappointment is not a possibility, it's something you owe the ones you want to protect. Happiness, he thinks, comes later, if at all. He was happy yesterday. Tonight. That can be enough.
Yes, such decisiveness is easy enough when you think about it. The ache in his chest, however, is a different story and though he probably should, he refuses to ignore it - instead, he crosses the distance between them, leans down and folds his hand against the back of Ichigo's head, fingers slipping into his hair slowly. His grip isn't rough but there's strength behind it all the same, strength that he couldn't deny even if he wanted to. Like that, he kisses him, pressing past his lips, filling him up, knowing very well that time is passing, that he's already late. ]