The tenderness may be an act, but Sousuke isn’t unaffected by the restless and breathless creature in his arms. Ichigo’s searching hips press the zipper of his pants almost painfully against his erection. He drags Ichigo higher up his body, relieving the sharper ache and shifting himself lower where his mouth can explore exposed collarbones. Where Ichigo is nearly vibrating with tension, Sousuke relaxes into the cushions and the growing pleasure.
The feeling of teeth in his shoulder has his eyes narrowing where Ichigo can’t see, but Sousuke doesn’t pause in his own ministrations to reprimand him. He merely tightens his hand in Ichigo’s hair in subtle warning. The panting keening sound as Ichigo slowly comes apart is recompense enough for the lapse, for the moment. His agreement hums against the skin under his teeth, amused at Ichigo’s incredulous question.
Finally receiving a request, Sousuke bites down hard on the skin he’d merely been nibbling on, trapping muscle and skin tightly. He sucks on the flesh, pulling it taunt against unyielding teeth for several long moments. That hickey might be purple instead of red tomorrow, and there would be several more to join it. It’s no surprise when Ichigo can’t answer his other question, but it had been more rhetorical than literal, something to get Ichigo to use his words.
His erection pulses as Ichigo’s struggles to answer him, to behave. Even now, in this unusually free moment, Ichigo is trying to follow the rules, if only subconsciously. Sousuke breaks the suction with a pop, using his grip on Ichigo’s hair to pull his head back so that he could mouth the tendons on the front of his throat. “Are you asking for permission to touch me, Ichigo? Hmm, you’re being so good for me.”
Sousuke snags a tendon beneath his teeth in a quick sharp bite, before releasing to continue. For a moment, he considers stipulating no biting. But he suspects that will be a challenge for Ichigo right now, and he doesn’t want Ichigo back in his head, pulling the defenses back in place. Better to just control where Ichigo puts his mouth, and Sousuke was happy to keep Ichigo’s neck arched back, throat exposed, and his mind dazed with need. Picking another target, he bites and sucks hard on a spot just below the jaw, shifting low so that he could reach and letting him feel Ichigo’s need against his lower abdomen. “You may touch me.”
He groans, jaw tightening as that fist tugs at hair, and Ichigo squeezes his eyes shut. His muscles start to unlock, loosening and going pliant until he gets those harder bites. Heat lances through Ichigo’s body, amber eyes blinking furiously up at the ceiling high above, unseeing and stuck for a moment while he tries to process. Fuck. He can’t seem to breathe, but it’s hardly important compared to the mouth on him.
He’s asking permission, but Ichigo wants to deny that last accusation automatically. Only he rolls those words around and decides he’s not as bothered as he expected, though they aren’t quite right. “That’s not it…” The tone comes out rawer than he expects, and he works on swallowing his emotions. It’s not that he’s trying to be good for the sake of it. He just doesn’t want Aizen to hate this, and it has almost nothing to do with his job. “I didn’t want to be the only one that liked it.” But that’s a hard thing to explain. It sounds so similar.
Aizen nips a tender spot harder than the rest and he jolts, gritting out something between a whine and a yelp, hands grasping for purchase as he struggles to be a little less wild, a little less out of control.
Some teeth and some well-placed touches, and Ichigo‘s already at the edge of his restraint as fingers move through the fine hair at the base of his neck, pushing higher to curl tight and draw his head back, leaving him angled and undefended against Aizen’s mouth. Then Aizen finds that pulse in his throat and sucks it until Ichigo is moaning and struggling to keep still.
There’s a thoughtless sound of want rising in his throat at that permission before Ichigo’s hands are pushing into his clothes. He rakes palms across the hard plane of Aizen’s chest, then shoulders, feeling his gut twist with want as he frisks buttons free to get at bare skin. He’s hardly finished before he’s shoving fabric open, wanting his mouth on him without being able to reach. He fights the impulse to drag nails across skin⏤to leave marks and welts⏤and pushes hands down his back instead, relishing the heat of it as he tries to find a better position to grind down into that hardness he can feel under him.