He uttered a long sigh, his fists opening and closing at his sides. I raised my head, releasing him from my mouth – but not my hands – observing his face.
I don't know how I ever thought him ugly. It must be that stupid grimace that he always wore, doubtlessly fantasizing it made him look insurgent and macho. Idiot. He had fine features, gentle even, and with his eyes glazed, half open, unblinking, his parched mouth releasing shallow breaths, he looked delicate, nothing like the intrepid, insolent fighter inside his soul.
I kissed his velvety head, wondering how long he would last. His hips moved. Should I be doing this? My first time had been taken from me because I didn't know how to refuse. Oh yes, I had wanted it, but not like that, not with him kissing me in the moonlight while holding someone else's hand during the day.
No, I may not have been doing the same to Ichigo. But I wasn't giving him a choice either. I did not want him to regret this.
I whispered his name. His hand lifted, fingers brushing my cheek. He stroked my head. The roles had reversed – he was the leader again, the one in charge, the stronger one. The pressure of his palm increased, and he pushed me down, albeit slowly and mildly, onto his cock.
I could hear the air rush through his teeth as he fought to silence his moans. His fingers clutched at my hair, pulling it in a way that caused more pain to my genitalia than to my scalp. The fellating, although fun, could not go on.
It was time for the real thing.