Just Sex [Ichigo/Rukia, NC-17]
It’s just sex, she reminds herself.
Rukia hisses, arching off the bed, her heels digging into the mattress. Ichigo’s hands are large and hot and good as he touches her, dragging his palms beneath her dress, up her thighs, past her hip bones. He breathes her name, sloppily, sucking and biting her sensitive earlobe.
Her arms are around his back, hands stroking every which way, fingertips running over his ribs, scars, muscles. She tilts her head as they kiss, noisily, tongues slipping and sliding together, Rukia sucks on his lower lip, and he nibbles gently around her mouth.
Rukia inhales sharply when his hand drops between her breasts, thumb bent beneath one, his middle and index fingers drawing over the other. Her nipples are hard as tacks. Ichigo grits his teeth as she scrapes her fingernails over his shoulders when he twists one, dark, dark pink against her paleness. She lifts herself to pull the yellow dress over her head, braless, ebony hair a mess, cheeks flushed.
Ichigo shifts to tug his pajama bottoms down and off, the bed creaking with his movements, bowed slightly with their weight. Rukia is small and trembling beneath him, but not delicate, like most would imagine. There’s fire in her now.
She smirks up at him and shoos his hands away, tucking hers down his boxers, one long, slim leg hooking around his hip. The calluses on her palms feel good as she fondles him, softly, her hands so warm on his skin. Ichigo braces himself on his elbows, propped beside her head, and she pants with him, that one lock of hair falling annoyingly across her face. He wants to see all of her.
Ichigo is young and impatient, so he grabs her teasing hands and cuffs them above her head, leaning down to kiss her, liking the way she moans. Rukia rolls her pelvis to him when Ichigo pushes a few fingers beneath the elastic of her panties, stroking her firmly, without finesse.
He knows she’s ready when she’s cussing at him, hands tearing into his orange hair.
Ichigo licks his palm for extra lubrication, laughing when she hits him upside the head. Her knees go over his firm thighs, heels clamping against his buttocks, toes curled. Rukia bites her cheek, muffling a squeal when he rubs himself against her folds, sliding the head over her clit a few times to tease.
His smirk irritates her, so she pulls his hair.
Rukia feels his sigh all the way to her bones when he slips inside. Tonight, she’s in no mood for sweetness, so she moves her hips in an insistent way, rubbing, grinding, urging him on. Ichigo is predictable, and takes the bait. He isn’t rough, only eager, as he takes her legs and bends them over his shoulders, holding her there, the night air brushing her bare skin where his hands once were.
She fakes a groan, making him frown, his brown eyes playful.
Now, they’re just two teenagers fooling around. Sex is an excellent way to pass the time. She isn’t a Noble or a Shinigami, and he isn’t a boy who knows too much and has seen more than most his age. There are no Hollows. The Seireitei itself is some fairytale-place talked about by crazy old ladies.
Rukia hates it when he silences her when she gets too loud. Ichigo hates it when she teases him about his animal-print boxers. What does it matter? He says. They’re going to come off sooner or later. She says the bunnies on them aren’t cute enough, that’s all. Sometimes he laughs, sometimes he doesn’t.
She groans, truthfully this time, as a tingle, glowing with heat, starts in her toes and settles deep into her belly. Rukia pants his name as quietly as she can. Her nails leave pale red marks as she drags them down his chest, in return, Ichigo bites her neck as she throws her head back, right on the jugular, feeling it beat and pulse beneath his lips.
The bed frame begins to squeak, thudding against the wall.
The dark haired girl has to bite his shoulder when she comes. It’s not intense, but it’s fast, like bullets are buzzing around inside, ricocheting beneath her sweat-covered skin. His cum is sticky between her thighs. Rukia rests one arm atop her forehead, breathing like she’s been running for her life, like they just got back from chasing some Hollow.
Ichigo licks his lips, sitting back, hunched over with her legs still about his hips, and he strokes them tenderly, she shivers. Her dark eyes are watching him. The bed makes another noise when he crawls above her again, kissing her forehead and smoothing her hair away, making her giggle, dark and throaty.
Rukia shoves him off a moment later, fixing her hair. She sticks her tongue out at him when he pouts. She gathers her fallen clothing, and Ichigo has the sudden urge to tip-toe his fingers up the bumps of her spine. She’s thin, but not bony, proportionate.
She tosses him the fallen box of tissues, not before grabbing a few and cleaning herself. He nods and does the same. Rukia stands, an arm’s length away, disheveled in a way Ichigo will never admit to be adorable. There’s a moment of peaceful, night-filled silence.
Rukia shrugs. “It’s just sex.”
Ichigo scoffs. “If you say so, shrimp.”
He dodges her kick.
Rukia huffs and opens the door to the closet she’s been staying in for the past three days. She was sent on a mission to take care of a minor Hollow outbreak and will return to the Seireitei in two more days. Before hopping inside, she steals a glance at the substitute from over her shoulder. He’s throwing the tissues away, the pout gone, with a thoughtful, almost sad look on his face.
Rukia gets in the closet and shuts the door.
It’s just sex, she reminds herself.
Rukia hisses, arching off the bed, her heels digging into the mattress. Ichigo’s hands are large and hot and good as he touches her, dragging his palms beneath her dress, up her thighs, past her hip bones. He breathes her name, sloppily, sucking and biting her sensitive earlobe.
Her arms are around his back, hands stroking every which way, fingertips running over his ribs, scars, muscles. She tilts her head as they kiss, noisily, tongues slipping and sliding together, Rukia sucks on his lower lip, and he nibbles gently around her mouth.
Rukia inhales sharply when his hand drops between her breasts, thumb bent beneath one, his middle and index fingers drawing over the other. Her nipples are hard as tacks. Ichigo grits his teeth as she scrapes her fingernails over his shoulders when he twists one, dark, dark pink against her paleness. She lifts herself to pull the yellow dress over her head, braless, ebony hair a mess, cheeks flushed.
Ichigo shifts to tug his pajama bottoms down and off, the bed creaking with his movements, bowed slightly with their weight. Rukia is small and trembling beneath him, but not delicate, like most would imagine. There’s fire in her now.
She smirks up at him and shoos his hands away, tucking hers down his boxers, one long, slim leg hooking around his hip. The calluses on her palms feel good as she fondles him, softly, her hands so warm on his skin. Ichigo braces himself on his elbows, propped beside her head, and she pants with him, that one lock of hair falling annoyingly across her face. He wants to see all of her.
Ichigo is young and impatient, so he grabs her teasing hands and cuffs them above her head, leaning down to kiss her, liking the way she moans. Rukia rolls her pelvis to him when Ichigo pushes a few fingers beneath the elastic of her panties, stroking her firmly, without finesse.
He knows she’s ready when she’s cussing at him, hands tearing into his orange hair.
Ichigo licks his palm for extra lubrication, laughing when she hits him upside the head. Her knees go over his firm thighs, heels clamping against his buttocks, toes curled. Rukia bites her cheek, muffling a squeal when he rubs himself against her folds, sliding the head over her clit a few times to tease.
His smirk irritates her, so she pulls his hair.
Rukia feels his sigh all the way to her bones when he slips inside. Tonight, she’s in no mood for sweetness, so she moves her hips in an insistent way, rubbing, grinding, urging him on. Ichigo is predictable, and takes the bait. He isn’t rough, only eager, as he takes her legs and bends them over his shoulders, holding her there, the night air brushing her bare skin where his hands once were.
She fakes a groan, making him frown, his brown eyes playful.
Now, they’re just two teenagers fooling around. Sex is an excellent way to pass the time. She isn’t a Noble or a Shinigami, and he isn’t a boy who knows too much and has seen more than most his age. There are no Hollows. The Seireitei itself is some fairytale-place talked about by crazy old ladies.
Rukia hates it when he silences her when she gets too loud. Ichigo hates it when she teases him about his animal-print boxers. What does it matter? He says. They’re going to come off sooner or later. She says the bunnies on them aren’t cute enough, that’s all. Sometimes he laughs, sometimes he doesn’t.
She groans, truthfully this time, as a tingle, glowing with heat, starts in her toes and settles deep into her belly. Rukia pants his name as quietly as she can. Her nails leave pale red marks as she drags them down his chest, in return, Ichigo bites her neck as she throws her head back, right on the jugular, feeling it beat and pulse beneath his lips.
The bed frame begins to squeak, thudding against the wall.
The dark haired girl has to bite his shoulder when she comes. It’s not intense, but it’s fast, like bullets are buzzing around inside, ricocheting beneath her sweat-covered skin. His cum is sticky between her thighs. Rukia rests one arm atop her forehead, breathing like she’s been running for her life, like they just got back from chasing some Hollow.
Ichigo licks his lips, sitting back, hunched over with her legs still about his hips, and he strokes them tenderly, she shivers. Her dark eyes are watching him. The bed makes another noise when he crawls above her again, kissing her forehead and smoothing her hair away, making her giggle, dark and throaty.
Rukia shoves him off a moment later, fixing her hair. She sticks her tongue out at him when he pouts. She gathers her fallen clothing, and Ichigo has the sudden urge to tip-toe his fingers up the bumps of her spine. She’s thin, but not bony, proportionate.
She tosses him the fallen box of tissues, not before grabbing a few and cleaning herself. He nods and does the same. Rukia stands, an arm’s length away, disheveled in a way Ichigo will never admit to be adorable. There’s a moment of peaceful, night-filled silence.
Rukia shrugs. “It’s just sex.”
Ichigo scoffs. “If you say so, shrimp.”
He dodges her kick.
Rukia huffs and opens the door to the closet she’s been staying in for the past three days. She was sent on a mission to take care of a minor Hollow outbreak and will return to the Seireitei in two more days. Before hopping inside, she steals a glance at the substitute from over her shoulder. He’s throwing the tissues away, the pout gone, with a thoughtful, almost sad look on his face.
Rukia gets in the closet and shuts the door.
It’s just sex, she reminds herself.