Warning: contains mature content. 18+ only.
Renji Abarai is sulking. To actually call it sulking would be an idiot move, and likely exacerbate the situation further. While usually relaxed and playful, there are odd moments where a comment that might often be dismissed as banter hit home, and his face darkens. His eyes lose their confident gleam, and he turns away. It always makes your stomach drop, and reminds you that Renji's brash confidence is in fact a haphazard stack of cards.
Breathe the wrong way, and it crumbles.
Now, however, is not one of those times. Renji Abarai is sulking, not hurt. The reason he's sulking...is because you won't kiss him.
His hunched shoulders, folded arms, and sluggish reishi are all because you didn't give him his "welcome home" kiss when he walked through the door. The reason? He's literally drenched with sweat and caked in dirt, and you didn't fancy getting damp stains on your brand new shirt. A gift from Orihime, down in the world of the living. It's cute, and flattering, and probably the nicest thing you own.
Renji didn't care to hear your reasons. He just wants that kiss, and he's not going to cheer up until he gets it. It wouldn't be so bad, you think, if he just wanted a peck. That would never be enough for him. He'll want to pick you up, and very likely pin you down on the couch, getting hot and heavy to work off some of the residual adrenaline.
There's no way your shirt will survive.
You poke through the cupboards, pushing aside bags of dry rice and beans, looking for something, anything sweet you can cobble together to brighten his mood and convince him to go take a shower. There's no batter to make taiyaki, but there might be some mochi or something you bought and hid and forgot about.
You're about to climb up on the counter to investigate the top shelf when Renji gets to his feet.
'Babe?' you ask, glancing over your shoulder.
'I'm gonna shower,' he mutters, before trudging off toward the bathroom. His shoulders, tan and tattooed and usually wide enough to support the world, droop forward. He barely lifts his feet from the ground.
It might almost make you feel sorry for him, if he wasn't acting like such an enormous goof. A smile crosses your face, quickly suppressed in case he looks round. You wait until the bathroom door clicks shut with a decidedly affronted air before you snort.
What a dork.
There are two ways to deal with this. One, apologise and give him the kiss he wants. Two, change out of your new shirt, into something that will make his petulant mood vanish like smoke. Is there really a choice?
When you hear the patter of running water, you ease open his drawer and pull out one of his shirts. He has a few from the human world too. (Though you give the tie-dye one a wide berth.) The wide neck slips off one shoulder, the sleeves drape down your forearms, and the hem skims the middle of your -now bare- thighs. The cloth is worn soft from repeated wash and wear, and it still smells faintly of him.
You pull it to your nose and inhale deeply, smiling against the fabric. You're lucky as hell, even if your boyfriend is sometimes a pouty brat. You putter around the kitchen and living room area, listening intently for the sound of the water shutting off. By the time it does, you're bouncing on the balls of your feet, itchy with anticipation.
Renji slouches out of the bathroom in a cloud of steam that is almost cinematic as it rolls out around him. Your mouth dries out. His hair is damp, loose, sticking to his neck, shoulders, chest. It naturally draws your eye down. His skin is beaded is still damp, a little flushed from the heat.
Tied precariously round his slim hips is a little white towel, barely covering his modesty. He strides out, oblivious to your doe-eyed gaze, and the towel splits around his taut thigh, revealing the edge of a firm buttcheek.
Oh, so he decided to get revenge.
Two can play at that game.
You edge into the kitchen, filling the kettle and putting it on to boil. Renji plops down on the couch, that skimpy towel riding up until you can see his hip bone. He is unconsciously gorgeous as he scrubs a hand through his hair, arm muscles bunching.
Your resolve crumbles like wet paper.
'Abarai,' you purr. 'You know there are bigger towels in that bathroom.' Not that I'm complaining.
His eyes cut toward you, widen comically, then narrow, gleaming. 'Is that my shirt?'
You pluck at the loose fabric. 'Yep.'
He leans forward, bracing his elbows on his knees. His abs bunch together, and its difficult to drag your eyes back up to his face. When you do, your knees turn to red bean paste.
'Looks good on you.' His voice should not be allowed to go that husky. His eyes linger on where the hem skims your thighs. On the hint of cleavage through the neckline.
Your pulse throbs. Renji's eyes are the perfect bedroom eyes. Dark, and full of heat. Deliberately, you pull the neckline to your nose, conveniently revealing a few more inches of thigh. Inevitably, his eyes flicker down. His jaw clenches. You inhale deeply, then sigh with pleasure. 'Smells like you.'
Renji's eyes flash. His hands widen; he instinctively wants to reach for you, pull you in. Tough luck. You turn on your bare heel and strut toward the kitchenette, stretching your arms above your head. The hem of the shirt lifts above your -also bare- butt. There's a strangled grunt from behind you. You reach for the tea canister with a smirk cutting across the lower half of your face. Poor Renji. Does he really think a little towel will break you?
You turn, smiling sweetly, about to ask if he wants a cup-
-his hands are on your waist, under the shirt, as he lifts you onto the counter. The tea canister and cups scatter like scolded children as his 'welcome home' peck turns into a back-bending, mind-numbing, toe-curling kiss that leaves you flat and dazed on the wooden kitchen counter. The shirt is pushed above your breasts and your legs are wrapped around his tattooed waist.
You grab a handful of wet, scarlet hair and lace your fingers through it. Renji groans at it tingles across his scalp and down his spine, and pulls his lips from yours. His breath is hot against your cheek as he leans round to bite and suck at the lobe of your ear.
'You minx,' he growls. You giggle as his fingers walk up the line of your sternum. His tongue laves at the dip below your ear. 'Aren't you gonna welcome me home?'
'Welcome-home!' Your voice jumps several octaves as his fingers find your nipple and tug. Your stutter out his name: 'R-Renji...'
His mouth follows his fingers, so his reply is rather muffled. His gaze smoulders up at you through fronds of fire-red hair. Inside the heat of his mouth, his tongue runs slick circles around your nipple, followed by a prolonged suck. The sensation creates a hollow ache in your gut, and you tighten your legs around him, cinching him closer. Renji's eyes close as you press his towel-covered erection right against your core. He groans. The vibration travels through your nerves, makes your back arch to offer up more to him and his teasing mouth.
You can just about reach the knot tied at his hip. Your fingers tremble as you pull at it, eager to shed any last semblance of clothing between the pair of you. He leaves one breast with a nibble, and skims kisses across to the other. It receives the same treatment. The abandoned one cools damp in the air.
The knot comes free, and you pull. Your elbow jerks and sends a teacup to shatter on the floor. Renji releases you with a husky laugh and nudges the shards aside with his foot.
'Don't break all our china, babe.'
'You chose to do this in the kitchen,' you retort. Your cockiness fades fast when Renji pulls away from you-and crouches. His eyebrows wiggle at you from over the curve of your body, before he leans forward into the vee of your legs and drags the flat of his tongue right up the centre of your sex. He grasps your hips, holds them close on either side of his head, squeezing your soft flesh. He tilts his head, sliding his tongue against you, kissing like he would your mouth. 'Renji...' you manage to say. 'Don't eat off the counter.'
Renji's face emerges from your thighs like a glorious red sunrise. His mouth twitches at the corners. 'Was that a fucking pun?'
'Yes, it was a fucking pun,' you say, putting a hand on the back of his head and pushing down. 'Get back to work.'
He grins, eyes heating up. 'Yes, madam.'
With your fingers tangled in his hair and one of your feet resting on a knocked-open drawer, Renji laps eagerly at your clit, swirling his tongue around it, sucking it into his mouth with hungry, needy sounds that arouse you almost as much as what he's doing to you. He leans into his task, holding your thighs open wide and moving his head slowly from side to side until you think you're gonna break from the hot, tingling pleasure.
Just as your thighs are starting to tremble, he straightens up. You shoot him the dirtiest look you can manage while lying on the kitchen counter like a steak. His mouth curves at the corners into his signature devilish smirk, one tattooed eyebrow quirks up. Your stomach flutters with an urgent combination of love and raw lust. You need to kiss the breath out of him. You need him to fuck you silly.
'Abarai, don't be a tease,' you say, breathless, running your hands up his chest to his neck. His pulse throbs against your palms as you pull him down and in for a kiss. He braces himself on the counter, adding the slick stroke of his tongue to your long list of things that are driving you absolutely crazy right now. Top of that list is the warm weight of his cock brushing along your inner-thigh. He presses his hips forwards, and the blunt tip nudges against the lips of your sex. You whimper into the kiss, hands gripping his shoulders. 'Hurry up.'
'Impatient, eh?' he purrs against your mouth, then nibbles your bottom lip. You feel his lips curve into a smirk the split second before he sweeps you off the counter and up into his arms. The air is chilly against your overheated skin as he stalks over to the couch, but then you're sinking down into it and a whole lot of warm, heavy man is there to sheild you from the cold. He strokes your legs open wide and settles into the cradle of your pelvis. His kisses land on your cheek, the side of your nose, your lips. He grasps the base of his cock, and presses forward.
Inch by inch, he slides in, back tense, weight-bearing arms trembling. He never gets tired of the feeling, of your snug, wet warmth wrapping around him as he joins your bodies together. You dig your heels into the back of his thighs, encouraging him. The slow penetration has caught up the unravelled threads of your orgasm, and every thrust begins to weave them back together.
He's greedy. His mouth is on your neck, feeling the buzz of every moan as it passes through your throat, his hands are on your left breast and in your hair, his legs are tangled with yours. He wants to feel every inch of you against him, around him. He groans with approval when you tug at his hair. Faster. Move faster. Because your legs are twined tight around him, keeping the pair of you locked into the frantic back and forth that drives you both higher. His staying power has always been good, but you had to wear his shirt and parade around in it. The soft, worn cloth on your naked skin has frayed his self-restraint.
'_...' Your name falls from his mouth, heavy with desire. You cup his jaw and bring his lips to yours. There's more than a slight impression of teeth in the kiss. Sweat beads on his skin, presses onto yours. You run your hands down his back, over his skin, still dewy from the shower, now from exertion. His muscles flex against your palms with every rock of his hips, and a corresponding pulse of pleasure flares between your legs. He grasps one hip, dragging it up. Suddenly your clit is pressed hard against his pelvic bone, and every thrust massages it, pleasuring you inside and out.
Your moan breaks halfway out of your throat, turning into a gasp. 'Renji...'
His free hand circles round to the nape of your neck, tilting your head back so your eyes meet his. Hells. His gaze is heavy-lidded, his eyes dark and focused. He knows exactly what he's doing. He wants you to lose yourself first. The game never ended. The dawning suspicion on your face is answered by a mischievous quirk to his lips, revealing a canine. Jerk. Sexy, sneaky bastard. Your annoyance and suspicion fragment, dissolve. Your nerves are on fire and his hard, grinding pace isn't helping at all.
You whimper. A sound that only ever leaves your mouth when you're underneath him. His smirk widens. Renji lowers his head so his nose brushes yours. 'Come for me, _.'
Your body knows you better than your mind, and uses that precise moment to unleash the pressure that's been coalescing in the pit of your stomach. Your toes curl hard into the soles of your feet. You shudder, and tighten up around the smirking fukutaicho, your inner walls rippling around him, waves of pleasure washing through your slackening limbs. Your hands fall from him, lying limp against the couch, your eyes sliding shut as everything unwinds. Bliss.
Kisses along the edge of your jaw. A low huff of laughter. A flicker of tongue. Your eyes snap open. Renji is still above you.
'Maybe you should just kiss me next time, huh?'
'That's my favourite shirt. You're so childish,' you complain, waiting for him to roll off you. 'We're both gonna need a shower now.'
His eyes brighten. 'Maybe after.'
'After?'
His body shifts over yours, in yours. He's still hard. Still throbbing inside you. You were so caught up in your own release you hadn't even noticed his lack of one. His cock twitches, setting off a stinging pleasure in your oversensitive nerves, and he draws back, only to slide right back in. Your knees fold up, your feet resting on the small of his back as lust coils up inside you again, ready for another go.
'Best three out of five?' he suggests, leaning down.
You'd reply, but his tongue is already in your mouth, sliding against your own, muffling your small, urgent whimpers. So much for evening plans.
Welcome home, Renji.