The fine hair on his arms and the back of his neck rose, followed by a shiver at the base of his spine. He was caught between stunned exasperation at Keigo’s candor and fascination that he’d even managed to get a sentence like that out. Ichigo was sure he couldn’t have. Never mind that he couldn’t tell if it was true or not, or whether Keigo was screwing around with him. It was possible.
Ichigo’s mind flicked through a half dozen scenarios— the how Keigo had touched himself, when, the faces he’d probably made, the sounds… And goddamn it, he was right. There was no way Ichigo wasn’t going to be spending the next several weeks with visions of his more than frustrating boyfriend on the forefront of his thoughts.
He bit out a tight sound, hard, heat flaring up the back of his neck even as he tried to push it down, and scoffed.
“You’re such a fucking idiot.”
But he didn’t take his eyes off Keigo’s face, fighting not to snap around him like a steel cage, and instead moved a hand up his throat to press a thumb under his jaw to hold him still so he could take his mouth, hand squeezing Keigo’s hip. Not sure how it kept himself so restrained when his mind was anything but.
That was what Keigo was looking for. That sudden reaction, that flavor of surprise that tasted so sweet. Keigo was burning from the inside out for having said something so bold, but the end result was worth the embarrassment. What made it even better was that Keigo just knew he’d planted a seed that would sprout endless lewd thoughts in Ichigo’s head. That his thoughts would be of him, of only him, and Keigo’s frustration would become his own on those nights where they were apart.
Before he made that bold move to claim his lips, Keigo smirked. He held Ichigo’s gaze, no matter how hard it was to resist tearing his eyes away from him in shame. He eagerly cooperated with how Ichigo commanded his movements, tilting his head and parting his lips. He met Ichigo’s kiss with an open mouthed affection, tongue seeking and delving for Ichigo’s own. He moaned softly, a tapered version of his normal wanton vocalizations.
He wasn’t lost enough to be unbridled, but still bold enough to grasp at Ichigo’s own hip, fingers seeking the warm flesh hidden underneath his shirt. He tilted his hips, testing Ichigo’s formidable strength, almost daring him to do something more.
