For my Ita. Happy Birthday! /loves on (Unedited. Forgive typos.)
The smug grin is what did it. Something feral and enticing all in one arrogant package.
"So what is it, Kurosaki? A run around camp or an overly salty meal? Your choice."
The redhead took no time to deliberate upon the matter. A run it was. And he was fine for the first few miles but with the wearing of his boots against his skin and the pull of mud against his clothing, he soon found his will wasn't nearly as commanding as the elements he faced. Still, he wasn't about to give in. Not to this bastard of a commander he had to put up with on a daily basis.
He made it…with a sour stomach and extreme heart palpitations to spare.
"Thought you'd be dead somewhere, brat."
"Wouldn't let you have that luxury, sir."
"Tch, still a fuckin' mouthy little prick, I see."
"Aye, sir."
The cerulean haired man grumbled, storming his direction with a hiss and spit of his name.
Ichigo let out a growl as his hair was captured and his head snapped backwards, "How about that meal?"
"I ran, sir."
"Right, I gave you an option. You chose to run first." The commander sneered wide, tongue flicking over his teeth in devilish delight, "Meal now."
With a kick to the strawberry's knees, he was brought to the ground with a growl and defiant stare. The zipping sound that followed soon after still rings loud in his head from time to time while in solitaire confinement. The sound that changed it. That changed him- them.
"Open wide, babe. Show me how hard you work for me."
Pinching in his cheeks by force, Kurosaki was pressed into submission, mouth flying open into an awed expression, dark eyes indignant and fearsome. As if that was all the permission he needed, the commander pushed himself inside the wet opening with a soft grunt of approval.
At first, they fought it. Both of them. Ichigo against it, Grimmjow for it. The rough grazing of teeth along his shaft and the sharp jolts of pain from hair tugging, they exchanged silent vows to each other in the mugginess of night.
But as it continued and the position became uncomfortable and the act more arousing, both men found themselves captive.
Kurosaki's mouth widened, jaws burning and yearning for more of the force driving down his pipes. And Grimmjow was left spaghetti legged and breathless, movements jerking and sporadic against the hot, wet opening.
"You're like a fuckin' whore. Look at you, swallowin' it down."
The subordinate didn't complain - not that he could; mouth filled to the brim with the other man and begging for more. All that he offered was a long hum from his throat to leave the executive clutching at his hair for purchase, instead of dominance.
It was all messy and quick but it was theirs. Swear soaked and sweat stained…theirs.
With each roll of his hips, Ichigo ran his palm around his own length, insides throbbing to explode and cover his clothes and hands in mess.
Grimmjow couldn't agree more. The sight of the red cheeks, glazed over eyes, and eager stroking from his counterpart was more than enough to make him pray every swear word known to man, and even some that were not.
It was the sound of approaching footsteps that sent them both toppling over, Ichigo into his calloused palm. And the commander into the subordinate's mouth, essence dripping from the corners of his lips to his chin, covering him (painting him) in his scent, his being.
"Swallow it, honey."
Kurosaki stood with a snap of his knees, grabbing the taller man with a jerk of his shirt, mouth pressed hard into his, tongue rubbing and sharing the liquid with the other man in a heated kiss. In spite of his repulsion, the owner swallowed down some of the exchange, watching through hooded eyes as the cherry did the same.
"What do you say, Kurosaki?" He panted, righting his clothes in preparation of departure.
With a show-stopping grin and tilt of his head, the younger man winked haughtily and spoke through a tight, teasing tone:
"Please sir, may I have some more?"