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It really shouldn't be like this. At all.
It was supposed to be all about the sex. Not even the break-me-off-a-piece-of-that kind of sex, just plain sex – for normal kinds of reasons. If normal is a perverted sensei making pass number sixty-nine at teenage pupil, who finally decides what the hell, he’s never gonna have time to date and Kisuke is hot...ish (that and Ichigo’s had it up to here with being the only virgin left in his grade). So, yeah. They have Reasons.
And so they do it. And it’s terrible. So they do it again. (Even they’re not sure why, exactly.) And who knew gay sex had fuck all to do with running around looking sexy in kimono while swinging swords? At least Kisuke went in knowing the basics (in theory, if not actual practice).
But now it’s been a few weeks, and a few more tries and recently it’s been…well…
They are not supposed to jump one another with a kind of frantic, Disney-movie leap before the door has even shut behind their friends. There is not supposed to be any kind of clothes ripping, crotch-grinding, rock-paper-tonsils over whose tongue can count whose molars. None of this panicky pawing as if someone doesn't get a hand on somebody’s cock – mine or yours, you pick – right the hell now, they are gonna. Fucking. Die.
There is far too much spit.
And licking.
Clothes, really, should not remove themselves that quickly. And hands – fuck – hands in places they have no business being. And if Ichigo could find his fucking brain right now, he’d know that his leg does not in fact bend that direction, no matter how good whatever the fuck Kisuke is doing with his fingers feels. (He’s actually swirling them – up and around, and curling them, like he’s knuckles-deep in the Nutella looking for a fix, only better, if the way Ichigo’s thigh is shaking is any indication.) And then there’s a rigid, lube-slick cock there instead and any kind of reasoning ability between either one of them goes fuck all out the window. Because.
Kisuke is quite large, when it comes down to it, and as healthy a male form as Ichigo has, he leans towards slender. So the fit is tight (like a headlock from an Olympic wrestler) and those first few moments usually involve a lot of pained hissing and checking to see if Ichigo is still breathing.
Only this time Ichigo just shoves back wet and open and easy down the entire length. He groans and his whole body hunches down a little, ass up and shoulder against the floor as he reaches between his thighs and palms his dripping cock. Then Kisuke hitches up higher against his hips and that pulls him even deeper.
This time they both groan, and Kisuke almost pulls out completely before he’s rocking forward so they can do it again. And again. And soon Kisuke is throwing his entire body weight behind each thrust – shoving with his feet to fuck Ichigo harder – and every few thrusts Ichigo wails a little, like he’s on fire.
Also, there should not be the kind of ass-filled, cock-pounding, fuck-it-all with a strawberry on top dirty talk – from either one of them – both shouting the kinds of nasty things that neither one will acknowledge are physically impossible, let alone ever came out of their mouths. Ever. Because they're saying things that have Ichigo whimpering and frantic, and make Kisuke snarl and pound him so hard they work their way clear across the floor and up against the wall on the other side of the table.
Then Ichigo is curling up against it and shouting something (that may or may not be Kisuke’s name and a combination of specific requests) as his body convulses and his cock spatters the wall and the floor with come.
And that just makes Kisuke fuck him hard enough into the wall they fall. Through. It. Kisuke makes a sound like he’s choking on crystal and jerks and jerks against Ichigo’s hips as they crash through thin wood and paper, where they both end up face-planting on the hallway floor, still twitching.
Afterwards, there is much shoving of debris aside and kissing. Lots of slow, wet, open-mouthed kissing. And a completely unnecessary tangle of naked limbs – too much touching altogether. And far too many lazy murmurs meant only for one another. And even post-coital giggles, what the fuck.
Ridiculous.
Because this is supposed to be all about the sex.
Really.