Grimmjow’s grin pressed teeth against Ichigo’s jugular. Exhausted, but still a little turned on, Ichigo stared up at the ceiling with the air of a despairing man.
“Three times is enough for one night.” He said to the air, refusing to acknowledge that it was a whine.
“Are you complaining about having too much sex?” Grimmjow snorts into his skin, large, calloused hands dragging their way up Ichigo’s overworked body. He still shivers.
“I think I am.” Ichigo sighs as Grimmjow leave a wet large kiss on his collarbone. “But this is nice.”
Grimmjow makes a questioning noise, his cock thickening where Ichigo could feel it pressed against his thigh. Oh, that’s an idea.
“Just fuck between my thighs, Grimm, I don’t think I can handle another round.”
“Between your thighs?”
“Yeah.” Ichigo squirms, trying to roll over and Grimmjow levers off him to watch the movement of his body. The heat in his eyes flushes through Ichigo’s body and he hides a smile in the pillow. Clamping his legs together, Ichigo reaches back for Grimmjow. With a slight pause, Grimmjow follows his beckoning, pressing up behind him on Ichigo’s tiny bed and covering the slighter man with his body.
“See?” Ichigo says, almost breathless. He shifts his hips to bring Grimmjow’s attention to how he pressed tightly to the back of Ichigo’s thighs and ass, still a wet mess of lube and come from their earlier activities.
Grimmjow makes an interested sound. He guides his cock to that tight space at the top of Ichigo’s thighs, slipping in where it was hot and sticky but not inside of Ichigo.
Smiling again, because Grimmjow was a long line of heat behind him and liking how the man felt between his thighs, Ichigo crossed his ankles to tighten the space for Grimmjow. He wanted it to feel good. The grunt of reluctant arousal was more than enough of a thanks.
“Like that?” Grimmjow asks, drawing back and thrusting forward gently, just a light drag across wet skin.
“Yeah, like that.” Ichigo breathes, reaching back for Grimmjow’s hand on his hip. Seizing it, Ichigo wraps it tight around his chest, pulling Grimmjow around him like a jacket and needing the closeness, moving with each thrust.
Tightening the hold Ichigo gave him, Grimmjow sealed his lips over skin and moved, not roughly or animalistic which was their normal (incredible) coupling, but with purpose.
“Grimm.” Ichigo murmurs, dazed with the feeling. He had no desire to come, which was a bit baffling, but the movement and hot breath and grip of the man behind him was filling some need he never knew he had.
“Ichigo.” Grimmjow says into Ichigo’s neck, dragging his face up and down the skin with an open mouth and a scrape of teeth. The mask on his jaw caught now and then, but not painfully, and it caused goosebumps to crawl up Ichigo’s spine and over his scalp.
“This is good.” Grimmjow pants, hips not slapping into Ichigo’s but firmly pushing, until Ichigo was rolled onto his face completely, gripping both Grimmjow and the bedding to hold on.
“Yes.” Ichigo nearly whines, trembling and tightening his thighs so that Grimm could feel it. He groans into Ichigo’s hair, arms clamping down over Ichigo’s so that he couldn’t move and could only take Grimmjow’s thrusts. Ichigo panted too, unable to shift his hips under the crush of Grimmjow’s weight, but if he could he would because this was nice, spellbinding with an in and out and the comforting weight of the other’s body above his, behind his, like a defense.
God, when did he start trusting Grimmjow so much? Looking to him for safety?
Grimmjow puts his lips on the back of Ichigo’s neck again, and with a scrape of his teeth he grunts, hips jerking, coming between Ichigo’s legs with messy spurts, but thankfully not nearly as much as the first few times. Dazedly, Ichigo wondered if he would forever smell like Grimmjow’s pleasure and wasn’t entirely opposed to the thought.
Breathing heavily into his neck, Grimmjow rolls his forehead back and forth, hands rubbing over Ichigo’s shoulders and arms, and down his back. Ichigo loves every movement, but especially the pleased, tired sigh he gets from a man who rarely, ever, lets himself be gentle.
Grimmjow reaches for Ichigo’s cock but he squirms away.
“No.” Ichigo sighs, slapping ineffectually at Grimmjow’s hand. He wavered between sleep and whatever strange state of half-seduced, half-content and smiled lopsidedly at Grimm, who craned around with an odd look on his face.
“You sure, berry?” Grimm asks, hesitant for once in his life. Stretching his legs that felt like jelly, Ichigo reveled in this strange peace he felt, and really only wanted Grimmjow to put his arms around him and to fall asleep to the man’s breath.
“Yeah.” He grasps weakly at Grimmjow’s arm and tugs, urging him to come up and hold him. Something inexplicably soft enters Grimmjow’s eyes, and Ichigo is too tired to gape at it. He blinks at Grimmjow and wonders what the other man sees. A large hand smooths the hair from his forehead, and lips press lightly between his brows. Ichigo sighs, refusing to let the itching feeling of tears sprout – his emotions were trembling in his chest.
“I’ll be right back,” Grimmjow murmurs into his hair, climbing off the bed. Ichigo whines at the loss, not liking the shaking of the mattress. Another press of lips right at the back of his neck soothes him, and he dozes until Grimmjow returns with a warm cloth.
Cleaned with gentle hands, Grimmjow leaves dry kisses behind after he finishes wiping Ichigo’s back, thighs, cock, and wet hole. Ichigo sighs again, fingers buzzing but now really, really wanting Grimmjow back with him. When the arrancar begins crawling up to slip under the covers, pulling Ichigo to him, Ichigo feels no shame in cuddling in closer than he ever had before, putting his face directly into Grimmjow’s skin.
“I have you, berry,” Grimmjow rumbles like a large cat’s purr, his arms clasping Ichigo to him like a fleshy seat belt and settling that part of Ichigo that felt destabilized. The tone of his voice is a special mix of surprise and reverence, with a bit of possessive smugness. It crawls down over Ichigo’s ears to warm about his neck, like a physical touch.
Ichigo sighs into sleep with that feeling under his skin, plastered to Grimmjow like a blanket and moving with the man’s every breath.