She couldn't help being reduced to a stuttering mess when Ichigo offered to give her a massage after work that day. It had been a long shift, absolutely grueling, and it happened to fall on his day off. She quickly protested, aware of how unappealing she must have been. Sweaty, tired, still in her uniform.
At his insistence, she mumbled, "Maybe if I shower first?"
She found him arranging the bed for her, and felt herself flush when he smiled at her.
Orihime lied on her stomach, down to her underwear, and buried her face in the pillows. Ichigo's strong hands moved across her skin, kneading carefully at her tense muscles. His touch was familiar to her, but she still trembled and bit back whines.
His breath shuddered, as his palms moved down the length of her back.
She knew where he was looking, and she squeezed her eyes shut.
"I-Ichigo," she whispered, when he continued to knead at her lower back gently. This area was always particularly sore, and she couldn't help the small gasp it elicited.
She started when she felt his mouth against her shoulder.
His calloused palm stroked at her bottom, feather-light. He squeezed, as if he couldn't help it, and after a heated moment, he tugged the crotch of her panties aside to stroke a finger across her slit. Her breath caught. He kissed she space between her shoulder blades and repeated the motion.
"S-Should we just...?" he trailed off, voice hushed and nervous.
She arched her hips wordlessly, and gasped sharply when he carefully pushed his finger inside of her.
At one time she had been so embarrassed at how easily she became wet for him. As if at a glance he could already have her worked up; his simple, meaningless touch having her so aroused sometimes the ache inside became unbearable.
She squeezed her eyes shut at the sounds, the wet, slick of his finger pumping in and out of her. At her whines, he pumped his finger into her a little more fervently, planting quick, clumsy kisses across the side of her neck.
"Please," she whispered, forming fists into the pillow. "I... Please."
She heard him quickly unbuckling his belt, and she pushed her ass further into the air. Knees digging into the mattress as she parted her thighs. He undid his zipper, and she reached between her thighs to roll her fingertips across her clit, through her underwear. The sight of her pleasuring herself always, without fail, excited him. His hand cupped her hip immediately, the sound of his other hand frantically stroking himself reaching her all the while.
"Oh, hold on," he muttered, grabbing another pillow and pushing it underneath her hips firmly.
He settled above her, using his knee to coax her legs further apart, before guiding himself to her entrance. He yanked the fabric of her underwear aside, too impatient to remove it at this point. She arched her hips further as the the head of him pressed against her, and he pushed in slowly; a rolling, insistent pace.
He groaned, so faintly she almost didn't catch it.
Her head dropped, catching her breath. He filled her so snugly, his unyielding hardness stuck tight within her, jabbing against some spot inside that had her thoughts unraveling.
He lowered down to his elbows, boxing her in beneath him, and she felt him press another kiss to the side of her head.
"Okay?" he asked, and she nodded quickly. She needed him to move. It was all she wanted. She could think of nothing else. It twisted up within her, an overwhelming need. Just when a frustrated whine began to bubble up in her throat at his lack of movement, he adjusted himself above her, providing himself some leverage.
Ichigo's pace was almost forceful then. Slow, hard, deliberate shoves that had her head spinning. Orihime could only hug the pillows and take him. Her moans stumbled out of her shakily, embarrassingly loud. The slide of him within was intoxicating, the head of his cock dragging across her g-spot snugly – in short, close thrusts; persistent, purposefully isolated. Ichigo leaned up and away, grasping her hip in one hand and helping her into a sharper angle.
It definitely undid any relief his massage had given her, but she couldn't bring herself to care. Ichigo groaned and sighed and mumbled, pressing in tight, interrupting his rhythm to roll his hips, savoring her.
He braced himself on both his hands. He bottomed out, filling her so completely that she grew breathless, that her moan turned into a sharp, surprised squeak. And then he pulled out almost completely. He plunged back in, repeating the motion.
"Ich – Ichi – Ah – " she sobbed, clutching the pillow for dear life as he fucked her with fervor.
He didn't do this very often. He was always so gentle and tender with her that she would forget he was capable of anything else. It seemed almost as if he were intent on reminding her just what he was capable of; Ichigo was athletic, and very, very strong, and had impossible endurance.
He was really, honestly, frustratingly perfect.
He shifted onto his knees behind her and flattened his hand against her back, pinning her in place, and with a hand braced beside her he began to ram into her with a force that bordered painful. She screwed her mouth shut and refused to show it. It was more bliss than anything. His hips snapped against her, the hand on her lower back shifting to gasp at her hip, moving her at his pace. It tore a cry from her throat, so sudden her voice cracked noticeably.
"Good?" he asked, breathless.
She mumbled and nodded. The head of his cock continued to strike against the same spot, and at the steady pace he managed to maintain for her, he was very quickly forcing her along to completion. Ichigo honed in on this, the shameless noises she was making – the broken pleads, the loud, drawling moans – and he immediately shortened his thrusts. He angled his hips until she was reduced to pathetic, mewling whines. She clawed at the sheets, unable to ground herself. This was the point in which she always tried to run from it, the overwhelming bouts of pleasure pounding through her; she wriggled and scrabbled but Ichigo held her in place tightly, coaxing her along.
"I can't," she protested, twisting a fist into the sheets. "Ichigo – please – I can't, I can't – "
He shushed her gently, rolling his hips, rocking into her incessantly.
It always happened a little unexpectedly. The tension snapping like a rubber band within her, dragging her release from her. She gasped, tensing, and her muscles began to contract around him. Fluttering, pulsing –
He groaned, pace finally staggering, finally losing his rhythm. And then he was finishing, too. She felt him filling her in thick, throbbing streams; his hips stuttering and then pressing in close, as deep as he could.
He breathed out, sounding relieved, and rested against her for a moment to steady himself.
Afterwards was always jarring. Too hot, too sweaty. Both of them boneless and clumsy as they separated. Ichigo scrambled to get her a towel, mumbling apologies.
"I – I'm sorry," he said, unable to look at her. "I honestly just wanted to do something nice for you. I didn't mean to...take advantage of you."
She blushed, adjusting her ruined underwear and stood awkwardly from the bed. "It's okay. It was... I. I liked it."
She cleaned up in the bathroom, and when she emerged again he had fixed the bed. He stood nervously near the end of the bed, wringing his hands.
"We can...finish the massage, if you're okay with it," he muttered, face red.
"No funny business this time?" she asked, mock stern as she placed her fists on her hips.
He cracked a sheepish smile. "No promises."
.x.