Work Text:
Ichigo sank further into his side of the couch with a contented sigh. His body angled to his right, toward Ishida—always toward Ishida—who sat on the other end, busy with a knitting project. Their apartment was silent for once. No friends or family crashing around; no loud, half-hearted arguments between the couple; no equally loud, frenzied fucking as soon as those arguments ended. Today was a lazy day by choice.
A lazy Valentine's Day by choice. Classes in their second year of university had been brutal, so when they discovered they’d be free for the romantic holiday, they quickly agreed their dream date would be absolutely nothing. The plan was to spend White Day similarly, if they were lucky.
Well, in truth, the “absolutely nothing” didn't last very long. Ishida insisted that knitting was still relaxing, while Ichigo claimed his workout and a quick shower had the same effect. But now—now Ichigo felt fulfilled just sitting there, cheek molding into the headrest of the couch, as he stared at Ishida. He hadn't kept track of how long he'd been watching. It could have been minutes or hours. If he cared to pay any attention, he might have also cared that he was unconsciously sporting a dopey, lovesick smile.
Ishida cared, though. The tender, brown-eyed gaze was boring a hole in him like a kid holding a magnifying glass to concentrate a sunbeam. He tried to ignore it at first, thinking it would surely stop once Ichigo got bored or drifted off for a nap. That didn't happen. Nearly forty-five minutes had passed since he'd begun knitting, and he'd already lost count and had to backtrack on his stitches several times thanks to the attention. He couldn't take it anymore.
“Kurosaki, do you want something?”
“Nah, I’m good.”
Getting a hint through to that thick skull was almost impossible. “Is there something on my face?”
A pause while Ichigo blinked in confusion and actually stared harder at him. “I don't think so.
“Do you possibly want to learn to knit?”
“Ha! No way.”
Knitting needles were dangerously close to being stabbed into an extremity. One last, obvious possibility: “Do you want sex?”
“No.” Ichigo caught how Ishida jerked in surprise and finally turned to look at him. The shock of brilliant blue irises being focused on him made his breath hitch. “I mean: yes to sex—always yes to sex—but I can wait. Don't let me bother you.”
Still taken aback, Ishida held the stare, noticing that Ichigo wouldn't look away or even blink from his eye contact. In fact, the dreamy smile on Ichigo’s face grew wider, and a pink tinge appeared on his cheeks.
Oh.
The knitting was carefully put down on the low table in front of them. Ishida took off his glasses and placed them beside the bundle of yarn, then slid the short distance to kneel at Ichigo’s feet. His eyes locked onto the curious brown orbs of his boyfriend. Ichigo followed his every move with quickening breath, body shifting to face him. When Ishida nudged Ichigo’s legs open wider to settle in and reached for his fly, Ichigo lightly grasped his hands.
“I said I can wait,” Ichigo softly murmured, wetting his lips.
“I heard you,” Ishida replied, just as softly. “I’m giving you what you want.”
He could tell by Ichigo’s pinched brows that the man didn't understand. Once the hold on his hands was reluctantly released, Ishida undid Ichigo’s pants and pulled the waistband down. Ichigo lifted his hips to help, letting his jeans and boxers rest at mid-thigh, but he wasn't done protesting.
“But…”
With an intense leer, Ishida repeated, “I know what you want. Relax.”
It wasn't until Ishida took his awakening length in hand and began teasing licks from the base to the head that Ichigo realized. Ishida’s sharp eyes wouldn't close or look away from his own wide ones. They trapped him, pinned him to the couch. Helpless. A drop of sweat ran from his temple.
“W-Wait, you're seriously—?”
Taking Ichigo into his hot, wet mouth, Ishida hummed. “Mhmm.”
“Oh fuck.” Ichigo bucked, which Ishida anticipated. Still, Ishida did not avert his gaze. Those eyes: Ichigo was transfixed by the sapphire depths of them and always had been. Ever since Ishida had shown up one fateful night when they were fifteen and blew him away with a single over-the-shoulder glance.
Their color, their shape—the emotions they would betray once Ichigo learned how to read them. Normally, they looked as if Ishida wished he could turn someone to ice with one disdainful glare. For Ichigo, after he’d pushed Ishida’s buttons as easily as breathing, they were the exact opposite. Then, the eyes would quickly flash to pure, blue fire. Only Ichigo could make Ishida lose his cool facade so completely. It became a point of pride. Later on, once they both admitted their antagonistic spats were covering up other strong emotions, the fire changed into a simmer. Purposeful looks from under Ishida’s dark lashes could emit such heat. It warmed Ichigo instantly on the coldest of nights.
Ishida was keenly aware of the power his eyes held over Ichigo. He'd used the advantage to distract, to win their fights, and to make Ichigo fuck him so hard he saw stars in the shape of Quincy crosses, but he’d never used it quite like this before. If Ichigo wanted to spend the day staring, he’d give as good as he got. Ishida bobbed his head, gently sucking and pressing against the underside of Ichigo's cock with his tongue. In his peripheral vision, he saw Ichigo’s chest heave, as if panicked. Tanned hands grabbed from his own faded t-shirt, to orange locks, to the couch cushions.
“Uryuu! Uryuu, this…this isn't fair,” Ichigo whined. “I can't…” He felt open and vulnerable. The stare pierced into him, and he couldn't help squirming. His hips pumped upwards on instinct as shallowly as he could manage while repeated bolts of pure desire were going straight to his dick that Ishida was lustfully worshiping. Ishida’s throat clenched around the tip, making him moan loudly, then raised up and off him slowly.
“So look away,” was Ishida's practical advice.
Ichigo emphatically shook his head “no” with a grimace, as if the suggestion physically pained him. As overwhelming as this erotic staring contest was, it would kill him more to give in. He reached to tuck Ishida’s long bangs behind his ear and cupped his face. The increased temperature of Ishida’s gaze in reaction to that made his standing cock noticeably jump. It seemed rude that Ishida smiled smugly without bothering to look directly at it.
Determined now, their stare held firm as Ishida dropped lower to kiss over Ichigo’s tightening sack. Kisses became licks, then each ball was sucked inside his mouth. A tremor went down Ichigo’s legs.
“Ury—! Please! Please, I need—”
Ishida took pity on him and swallowed Ichigo’s swollen cock again. Ichigo’s eyes very nearly closed as they rolled back into his head, until he caught himself and snapped back to rapt attention. Ishida’s palm cradled Ichigo’s spit-slick sack and thumbed the seam while he bobbed faster. He let the cockhead rub against the inside of his cheek, and Ichigo shouted in pleasure.
Biting his bottom lip, Ichigo inhaled and exhaled through his nose like he was running a shunpo marathon. Small, needy sounds escaped him. He struggled to keep locked onto Ishida’s stare, faltering as his eyelids drooped and his vision blurred. His hips stuttered, desperate to use his boyfriend’s glorious mouth without restraint. Shaking fingers clutched Ishida’s sleek, raven hair.
What pushed Ichigo over the edge wasn't only Ishida’s hungry mouth, the friction of his palm, or even the sultry gaze. No, what ultimately did Ichigo in was that gaze softening to show nothing but devotion. The unwavering love that Ishida held for him, and how much he enjoyed making Ichigo feel this good. Liquid fire spread throughout Ichigo’s entire body until he was sure he'd combust from the inside out. His heart was going to explode out of his chest and into Ishida’s hands, where it belonged.
Frantic, Ichigo gripped Ishida’s hair and wrist to ground him to something—anything. He came with a deep groan of Ishida’s name, not needing to warn his boyfriend beyond that by now. Though his eyes lost focus, he never closed them, stubbornly holding on until the end. Ishida didn't break either, letting Ichigo’s balls empty onto his tongue in heavy pulses while his stare burned. There was a self-satisfied glint to the sharp eyes that made them shine.
New plan, Ichigo decided: on White Day, he was going to find a way to buy Ishida an entire craft store.
When Ichigo was spent, Ishida released him and surged up to straddle his lap. Ichigo’s head was forced backward by a fist in his hair, and Ishida kissed his gaping mouth. Their pleased, half-lidded eyes hotly watched each other up close. His thick cum was fed back to him, courtesy of Ishida’s insistent tongue pushing in. Ichigo greedily took it, sucking on Ishida’s tongue to capture every drop. This time, it was Ishida’s eyes that nearly closed at the sensation. They happily squinted at him before Ishida ended the kiss and broke the spell by looking away, at last.
Ichigo gasped raggedly, head falling back onto the couch, and strained eyes shutting. He felt Ishida move from him, and heard the clack of glasses and metal needles being picked up. The sofa dipped, and the rhythmic sounds of knitting began anew.
“Wha…” Boneless, Ichigo rolled his neck and opened his eyes to find Ishida back at his work. “I don't get to make you come too?”
Ishida smirked with reddened, slick lips. He threw Ichigo’s words back at him. “I can wait. I have a goal for today, then I can stop.”
That was disappointing. Ichigo wanted to return the favor immediately in a way just as intense as what Ishida had done for him. Once Ishida was determined about something, especially a project, it was pointless to argue. Besides, Ichigo had been given the type of orgasm that made him satisfyingly sleepy. A break wouldn’t be so bad. He’d get revenge later by making Ishida beg in a way he’d deny ever happened.
“Can I nap on you?”
“Hmm,” Ishida thought it over. “As long as you don't mind yarn in your face, and you can be quiet.”
Ichigo pulled his pants up and fastened them with a grin, then dropped down on his side so that his head rested on Ishida’s thighs, which he planned to mark before the day was over. The back of his head brushed against evidence that Ishida wasn’t as unaffected as he pretended to be.
“You’re hard, you know.”
“Stunning observation. I warned you to be quiet.”
It would be so easy to flip over and mouth the tent in Ishida’s pants—to inhale deep and smell his arousal. For the moment, he settled for squeezing Ishida’s knee. “I love you, Uryuu,” he sighed.
“Love you too. Shut up and let me work.” There was an airy chuckle before Ichigo’s breath evened out into sleep. Ishida could knit in peace. His lips quirked in a similar way to the silly smile Ichigo had been making towards him earlier. “Happy Valentine's Day, Ichigo.”
Fin