He bared his teeth and narrowed his glare as Shiroaski placed his hands on his tan flesh, his ivory skin contrasting against his own, but he didn’t stop him from letting his hands roam his body, it brought goosebumps to his skin and electricity down his spine.
Keeping him around wasn’t his favorite idea, but it was the only way to keep him from being seen by anyone who didn’t know him.
With a blink of his eyes, the bastard his turned him around, pinning him between the wall and his body. He wanted to punch the grin off of his face. Reaching behind Shirosaki, he grabbed a fistful of his white hair and pulled his head back, he leaned over him, speaking into his ear with a low roar,
“I’m not your babysitter. If you want someone to watch you, I will gladly have Rukia do so.”
his internal amusement and desires keep that thin grin plastered along his fair visage. one eye closes as ichigo takes hold of his hair and hisses in his ear. did he forget who he was talking to? had ichigo forgotten who he was? had he forgotten that shirosaki could snap his neck in less than a second? spirit pressure seeps from the hollow—tinting the air crimson as he jerks his head from ichigo’s grasp.
teeth appear as he gives the youth a shark’s grin: too many teeth, too little humor. emotions rise within the unstable hollow and he’s no longer certain if he wants to knock ichigo’s lights out or violate him in more fun ways.
those strange irises flash, darkening to a grayish hue. he wants ichigo to shut his damn mouth. the redhead talked too much, tried too hard to be intimidating. there was only one way to shut him up, it seemed. that grin shifts into something akin to a kittenish smile… digits tug on those jean belt-loops one final time.
…and… he’s leaning in to capture those scowling lips with his own.
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