xxiii.
The morning after, he knows, always begins heavy, with an aching head and heart and groan.
"Oh, I know, Hitsugaya. You hate yourself. You regret last night. This is the last time that something like this is going to happen. I've heard it all before."
Opening his eyes, he turns to the direction of her voice. "Cirucci."
She is lovely and unashamedly naked besides him in the bed, biting down on his lip as he kisses her. There is nothing sweet about this, Toushirou thinks absent-mindedly, tracing her ribcage with his fingers. He wonders how her husband is.
"Shut up before you say something stupid," Cirucci says, mouth wet, sloe eyed. Lustrous locks cascade over her shoulders, and Toushirou is compelled to kiss the curve of it.
"Like a line?" He murmurs lazily, busying himself with the slope of her neck next, smirking as she climbs on top of him, rolls her hips against his.
"Like a line," Cirucci agrees, triumphantly, grinning with her teeth. "Everyone knows that you're in love with Hinamori Momo, and that you can never have her."
"And yet," Toushirou says, refusing to give in to her jabs, pressing an open mouthed kiss on the shell of her ear instead, "you'll have me time and time again."
"Only because you're pretty," Cirucci says, gasping a little, tightening her hold on him, and he's satisfied. It's a good start to the morning. "And so very fuckable."