[feral-ballad]

Alex Dimitrov, from Love and Other Poems; “The Weather of Our Lives”

[white--moon]

He doesn't bother hiding his smirk. "I know, that's what I just said."

He's never liked kissing someone half as much as he likes kissing Ichigo. Kissing always felt too intimate and he was never an intimate person. It just never really did it for him, but everything with Ichigo does something for him.

He feels the fingers at his hips scrape against his jeans and can't help the way the corners of his mouth lift in a half grin against Ichigo's mouth. He swipes the tip of his tongue against Ichigo's bottom lip mid kiss, imaging he can taste that shiver. He loves the way Ichigo comes undone, unravels at the seams, when he gives in and admits, not verbally but no more subtly, what he wants.

The grip in Ichigo's hair tightens and he tugs back, going for Ichigo's throat like an animal.

[black--sun]

Ichigo’s breath catches as Shiro tightens his grip in his hair, pulling him back. “Ah...” A sharp spark ignites in his chest—half surprise, half desire—and he doesn’t even try to suppress it. He should. Shiro makes him forget himself and where they’re supposed to stand so easily. But his lips are still wet, still tingling from that lick, and Ichigo’s nails dig into the fabric over Shiro’s hips harder, tugging him closer, desperate to anchor himself against the pull of the deep, dangerous craving Shiro draws out of him. 

“Shiro,” he breathes, his voice low and ragged, daring Shiro to push further, to pull more out of him. And fuck, does Shiro always pull. Every scrape of Shiro’s teeth against his skin, the possessiveness of those fingers in his hair, it all leaves him dizzy. Makes the craving sharper, darker. Shiro knew exactly how to drag a response from him. “You really think you’ve got me figured out, don’t you?” Ichigo tries to ignore how his body burns and how his voice falters when Shiro’s teeth dig into his throat. He shudders, the sound escaping his lips somewhere between a groan and a curse.

[white--moon]

He's always enjoyed Ichigo's little sounds and all the reactions he seems to have no control over, and of course the half desperate way Ichigo grips him now. He can't help but grind against the front of Ichigo in a short, shallow motion when Ichigo pulls so close.

The way Ichigo breathes his name is so incredibly erotic, so full of want, it sends a pulse of excitement through his entire core. He groans a tiny little sound at hearing it. He's intent on chewing a mark into Ichigo's skin for everyone to see. He hopes Ichigo likes turtlenecks. But he paused when Ichigo speaks, a little confused. He doesn't back up, speaking against moist skin. "I don't remember saying that, but I am good at figuring people out." Figuring people out is easy. He's so unashamedly himself and that tends to get pretty big reactions. Whether good or bad, big reactions are easy to read. He slicks his tongue across the space he'd been biting, before moving to start on Ichigo's collarbone.

[black--sun]

Ichigo gasps, the breath pushed from him when Shiro grinds against his front. The friction is toe-curling, sharp-edged and perfect, and it draws a low groan from deep in his throat.

Ichigo huffs when Shiro answers, having trouble staying still under those teeth and finally pushing his hands up under Shiro’s shirt to get at bare skin. No, he didn’t say it. He acts like it though. Ichigo doesn’t even dislike it. He just feels like he should resist how well they fit together. But he’s also tired of doing everything he should. Especially in moments like this when his restraint is stretched to the point of snapping.

Ichigo can feel himself fraying at the edges, the heat and need pulling him a dozen different ways. The drag of Shiro’s tongue leaves a searing trail, and Ichigo swears he can feel it sinking under his skin, crawling into his veins. Just like Shiro himself. They both know this doesn’t mean anything. They’ll tear into each other, they’ll devour and fuck, they’ll leave marks like promises they can’t keep, and then they’ll go back to pretending none of it ever mattered. They’ll go back to pretending neither of them want the other bad enough to kill for it when it’s over. So what does it matter if he lets himself give in to how he obsesses over Shiro? It won’t mean anything. He shifts, rising onto the balls of his feet, urging Shiro closer. Forget keeping up any pretense— he’s past caring. All he can think about is how to get more of himself inside Shiro and more of Shiro inside him.

[white--moon]

It's really extremely unfair how electrifying everything with Ichigo is all the time. When in comparison with Ichigo, he may as well not have been getting laid since they split up. Nothing else compares. Sex with his current guy is good to be sure, but it's not the same.

He pulls a deep breath in through his nose when Ichigo's hands find skin under his shirt. That huff his words get reminds him of what a contrary little shit Ichigo can be. He always liked that feistiness, even when it was a pain in the ass to deal with.

Ichigo shifts and for half a second, Shiro wonders if he's about to come to his senses and put a stop to this before it goes any further. It would be the smart thing to do, which makes him realize he should put a stop to it. But he isn't going to, he already knows he wont, probably can't.

Instead of stopping things, Ichigo does the oposite. Shiro groans under his breath at realizing Ichigo wants this as much as he does. Shiro's never been one for subtlety and with as much of a green light as he seems to be getting, he shoves his knee between Ichigo's thighs and palms his dick.

[white--moon]

He doesn't bother hiding his smirk. "I know, that's what I just said."

He's never liked kissing someone half as much as he likes kissing Ichigo. Kissing always felt too intimate and he was never an intimate person. It just never really did it for him, but everything with Ichigo does something for him.

He feels the fingers at his hips scrape against his jeans and can't help the way the corners of his mouth lift in a half grin against Ichigo's mouth. He swipes the tip of his tongue against Ichigo's bottom lip mid kiss, imaging he can taste that shiver. He loves the way Ichigo comes undone, unravels at the seams, when he gives in and admits, not verbally but no more subtly, what he wants.

The grip in Ichigo's hair tightens and he tugs back, going for Ichigo's throat like an animal.

[black--sun]

Ichigo’s breath catches as Shiro tightens his grip in his hair, pulling him back. “Ah...” A sharp spark ignites in his chest—half surprise, half desire—and he doesn’t even try to suppress it. He should. Shiro makes him forget himself and where they’re supposed to stand so easily. But his lips are still wet, still tingling from that lick, and Ichigo’s nails dig into the fabric over Shiro’s hips harder, tugging him closer, desperate to anchor himself against the pull of the deep, dangerous craving Shiro draws out of him. 

“Shiro,” he breathes, his voice low and ragged, daring Shiro to push further, to pull more out of him. And fuck, does Shiro always pull. Every scrape of Shiro’s teeth against his skin, the possessiveness of those fingers in his hair, it all leaves him dizzy. Makes the craving sharper, darker. Shiro knew exactly how to drag a response from him. “You really think you’ve got me figured out, don’t you?” Ichigo tries to ignore how his body burns and how his voice falters when Shiro’s teeth dig into his throat. He shudders, the sound escaping his lips somewhere between a groan and a curse.

[white--moon]

He's always enjoyed Ichigo's little sounds and all the reactions he seems to have no control over, and of course the half desperate way Ichigo grips him now. He can't help but grind against the front of Ichigo in a short, shallow motion when Ichigo pulls so close.

The way Ichigo breathes his name is so incredibly erotic, so full of want, it sends a pulse of excitement through his entire core. He groans a tiny little sound at hearing it. He's intent on chewing a mark into Ichigo's skin for everyone to see. He hopes Ichigo likes turtlenecks. But he paused when Ichigo speaks, a little confused. He doesn't back up, speaking against moist skin. "I don't remember saying that, but I am good at figuring people out." Figuring people out is easy. He's so unashamedly himself and that tends to get pretty big reactions. Whether good or bad, big reactions are easy to read. He slicks his tongue across the space he'd been biting, before moving to start on Ichigo's collarbone.

[white--moon]

That seems to have killed the idea of busting him up, which is exactly what he wanted. The last thing he's interested in is getting his shit kicked in the night before he gets murdered. If he's going to bite it tomorrow during this meeting, he wants to spend his entire night stoned and fucking. Since he agreed to avoid the first part, he'll replace it with spending time with Ichigo instead.

"Ok. We'll get food." He sort of frowns about that first comment though, really not sure what that's supposed to mean. He doesn't care enough to ask, though. "No, I just-" Maybe this just shows how unused to having regular friends he is. He shakes his head. "Whatever. You're weird too." A grill near a school campus doesn't sound impressive, but considering Shiro's go to food most days is various dive bars, he doesn't really have much to say. And maybe a grill is better anyway, because anything too nice is probably weird for friends. "Sounds good."

He swallows, eyeing skin and muscle and the way Ichigo breathes. That skin feels smooth and warm against his hand, the muscle underneath firm. Ichigo has always been everything he wanted and he hates that. He hates how much he wants every part of him, every aspect of him. He wants to hate Ichigo, especially in moments like this, where they're so close but not close enough. But he can't do that no matter how hard he tries.

He flattens his palm against Ichigo's back instead and enjoys how easily Ichigo got practically naked for him. "How d'you manage to make something as hideous as that bow look so appealing?"

[black--sun]

Ichigo smirks. Shiro, tongue-tied? Rare. Cute. “Everyone’s weird if you watch them long enough.” Though, considering the killers and lowlifes he tracks, his views might be slanted.

The small space feels close and still and it’s impossible not to focus on every little gesture. Ichigo could lean forward, close the distance, and take Shiro’s mouth the way he’s been aching to. He craves that contact. But that comment about him taking advantage the night he showed up keeps surfacing like an ugly splinter in his brain. It has him twisted with uncertainty. He’s not even sure Shiro meant it. He likely just wanted to hack away at Ichigo’s moral high ground and remind Ichigo that he rolls around in the mud like everyone else. But now, Ichigo can’t stop wondering if he was hurting Shiro on purpose on some subconscious level. He sure as hell was being selfish. 

Ichigo snorts, breaths shaky as that palm flattens and heat pools beneath it. He’s practically pressed against Shiro by this point he wants that touch so much. “I definitely don’t, you’re just…” What is he? Biased? In love? Infatuated? Ichigo swallows and looks away to distract himself. “Pretty sure it comes off.” He reaches up and tugs the tail end, pulling it free. Except it apparently served some unknowable, impractical purpose, because the straps slacken as if the whole thing might slide straight into the floor, unraveling into some horrible, sadistic puzzle. “What the hell," he mutters, eyes falling to where it's barely hanging on. “Who designs this crap?” He’s never getting it back together.

[white--moon]

He blinks and his brows go up slightly, before he snorts a small laugh. "That sounds like something a weirdo would say."

Ichigo never gave himself enough credit for how attractive he is. "You definitely do." Ichigo looks so flustered and like he's trying not to be into this. It makes Shiro almost feel bad for enjoying it. Almost. He smirks and huffs a laugh under his breath when Ichigo finally settles on saying Shiro's sure it comes off. Of course he's sure it comes off. Before he can come up with something witty to say, though, it does come off. He laughs again, "No clue, but I'm gonna find out and tip them generously." He leans back just enough to eye the way it's basically just draped against Ichigo at this point. "I honestly think it looks better this way." It's definitely one of those pieces that looks best on the floor in a heap.

He still can't get over how fast and willingly Ichigo stripped to start trying it on. That makes it seem an awful lot like Ichigo was as into the idea of changing stall sex and Shiro. He hooks a finger into a loose strap and pulls, helping it slide the rest of the way free. Then he runs his fingertips up Ichigo's thigh.

[black--sun]

The urge to argue is automatic, but he doesn’t have much toback it up with. Ichigo huffs instead, giving a snort. “Yeah, probably.”

Ichigo exhales sharply, his gaze dropping to where Shiro’s fingers linger, far too confident and far too familiar as they nudge the outfit over the curve of a shoulder and into the floor. The slip of fingertips and fabric has tingles zipping along Ichigo’s spine to curl around his tailbone. “Hanging on by a thread? Why am I not surprised? That’s most of your closet,” he mutters, like that’ll distract either of them from the fact that he didn’t move even a fraction to keep it from happening. Instead his pulse thumps under his skin as Shiro’s fingers ghost higher.

Ichigo swallows hard and forces his eyes back up to Shiro’s face. But it’s a mistake, because Shiro always looks like he’s got a smirk hiding just behind his lips and it makes something hitch inside Ichigo’s brain. Ichigo pushes out a breath, softer but still rough with want, because he doesn’t want to push, but if Shiro keeps stringing him along, there’s going to be an imminent meltdown. He curses Shiro under his breath. “When is it a good time to say I’m gonna lose it if you don’t kiss me?”

[white--moon]

He loves those times he can see Ichigo wanting to be stubborn and obstinate but unable to be. It's so entertaining.

Not bothering to take his attention off Ichigo and all that skin on display, he shrugs a nonchalant motion. "Yet you like all of my closet, so I don't thing you get to judge." Though, he thinks that bit of snark is probably just second nature more than real complaint.

He's really just enjoying himself. He was a little too drunk and definitely too desperate the night before to take his time, but when Ichigo says he's going to lose it, Shiro smirks and looks back up to see Ichigo's expression. "It's literally always a good time to say that." He doesn't wait for a reaction, he leans in and kisses Ichigo, bringing one hand up to slide into the hair at the back of Ichigo's head.

[black--sun]

He smirks. He’s always had an unhealthy appreciation for Shiro’s wardrobe—especially when it’s on Shiro. Those cropped shirts still ruin him. “I like your closet,” he admits, a little too openly, but Shiro let him run wild in there, so who’s really to blame? Shiro’s different now. It’s not drastic, but enough that Ichigo notices the shifts, the subtle changes. And it aches, because Ichigo wasn’t there to watch them happen.

Whatever words he might’ve found—sharp, clever, accusatory—dissolve when Shiro leans in. The breath catches in his throat, caught between stubbornness and pure, stupid need. He’s never worked out why Shiro’s kisses undo him like this, but when their lips meet, he melts internally, leaning into the kiss, pressing closer. He tries not to be so obviously desperate when that palm slides into his hair, but his fingers betray him, curling tight against Shiro’s hips, and he can’t stop the shiver that runs through him when the rough edge of denim bites against bare skin. It’s messy, and reckless, but exactly what he wants. Someone like Shiro has no business kissing like this. It’s unfair, borderline cruel, and absolutely devastating to Ichigo’s sanity.

[white--moon]

He doesn't bother hiding his smirk. "I know, that's what I just said."

He's never liked kissing someone half as much as he likes kissing Ichigo. Kissing always felt too intimate and he was never an intimate person. It just never really did it for him, but everything with Ichigo does something for him.

He feels the fingers at his hips scrape against his jeans and can't help the way the corners of his mouth lift in a half grin against Ichigo's mouth. He swipes the tip of his tongue against Ichigo's bottom lip mid kiss, imaging he can taste that shiver. He loves the way Ichigo comes undone, unravels at the seams, when he gives in and admits, not verbally but no more subtly, what he wants.

The grip in Ichigo's hair tightens and he tugs back, going for Ichigo's throat like an animal.

[white--moon]

That seems to have killed the idea of busting him up, which is exactly what he wanted. The last thing he's interested in is getting his shit kicked in the night before he gets murdered. If he's going to bite it tomorrow during this meeting, he wants to spend his entire night stoned and fucking. Since he agreed to avoid the first part, he'll replace it with spending time with Ichigo instead.

"Ok. We'll get food." He sort of frowns about that first comment though, really not sure what that's supposed to mean. He doesn't care enough to ask, though. "No, I just-" Maybe this just shows how unused to having regular friends he is. He shakes his head. "Whatever. You're weird too." A grill near a school campus doesn't sound impressive, but considering Shiro's go to food most days is various dive bars, he doesn't really have much to say. And maybe a grill is better anyway, because anything too nice is probably weird for friends. "Sounds good."

He swallows, eyeing skin and muscle and the way Ichigo breathes. That skin feels smooth and warm against his hand, the muscle underneath firm. Ichigo has always been everything he wanted and he hates that. He hates how much he wants every part of him, every aspect of him. He wants to hate Ichigo, especially in moments like this, where they're so close but not close enough. But he can't do that no matter how hard he tries.

He flattens his palm against Ichigo's back instead and enjoys how easily Ichigo got practically naked for him. "How d'you manage to make something as hideous as that bow look so appealing?"

[black--sun]

Ichigo smirks. Shiro, tongue-tied? Rare. Cute. “Everyone’s weird if you watch them long enough.” Though, considering the killers and lowlifes he tracks, his views might be slanted.

The small space feels close and still and it’s impossible not to focus on every little gesture. Ichigo could lean forward, close the distance, and take Shiro’s mouth the way he’s been aching to. He craves that contact. But that comment about him taking advantage the night he showed up keeps surfacing like an ugly splinter in his brain. It has him twisted with uncertainty. He’s not even sure Shiro meant it. He likely just wanted to hack away at Ichigo’s moral high ground and remind Ichigo that he rolls around in the mud like everyone else. But now, Ichigo can’t stop wondering if he was hurting Shiro on purpose on some subconscious level. He sure as hell was being selfish. 

Ichigo snorts, breaths shaky as that palm flattens and heat pools beneath it. He’s practically pressed against Shiro by this point he wants that touch so much. “I definitely don’t, you’re just…” What is he? Biased? In love? Infatuated? Ichigo swallows and looks away to distract himself. “Pretty sure it comes off.” He reaches up and tugs the tail end, pulling it free. Except it apparently served some unknowable, impractical purpose, because the straps slacken as if the whole thing might slide straight into the floor, unraveling into some horrible, sadistic puzzle. “What the hell," he mutters, eyes falling to where it's barely hanging on. “Who designs this crap?” He’s never getting it back together.

[white--moon]

He blinks and his brows go up slightly, before he snorts a small laugh. "That sounds like something a weirdo would say."

Ichigo never gave himself enough credit for how attractive he is. "You definitely do." Ichigo looks so flustered and like he's trying not to be into this. It makes Shiro almost feel bad for enjoying it. Almost. He smirks and huffs a laugh under his breath when Ichigo finally settles on saying Shiro's sure it comes off. Of course he's sure it comes off. Before he can come up with something witty to say, though, it does come off. He laughs again, "No clue, but I'm gonna find out and tip them generously." He leans back just enough to eye the way it's basically just draped against Ichigo at this point. "I honestly think it looks better this way." It's definitely one of those pieces that looks best on the floor in a heap.

He still can't get over how fast and willingly Ichigo stripped to start trying it on. That makes it seem an awful lot like Ichigo was as into the idea of changing stall sex and Shiro. He hooks a finger into a loose strap and pulls, helping it slide the rest of the way free. Then he runs his fingertips up Ichigo's thigh.

[black--sun]

The urge to argue is automatic, but he doesn’t have much toback it up with. Ichigo huffs instead, giving a snort. “Yeah, probably.”

Ichigo exhales sharply, his gaze dropping to where Shiro’s fingers linger, far too confident and far too familiar as they nudge the outfit over the curve of a shoulder and into the floor. The slip of fingertips and fabric has tingles zipping along Ichigo’s spine to curl around his tailbone. “Hanging on by a thread? Why am I not surprised? That’s most of your closet,” he mutters, like that’ll distract either of them from the fact that he didn’t move even a fraction to keep it from happening. Instead his pulse thumps under his skin as Shiro’s fingers ghost higher.

Ichigo swallows hard and forces his eyes back up to Shiro’s face. But it’s a mistake, because Shiro always looks like he’s got a smirk hiding just behind his lips and it makes something hitch inside Ichigo’s brain. Ichigo pushes out a breath, softer but still rough with want, because he doesn’t want to push, but if Shiro keeps stringing him along, there’s going to be an imminent meltdown. He curses Shiro under his breath. “When is it a good time to say I’m gonna lose it if you don’t kiss me?”

[white--moon]

He loves those times he can see Ichigo wanting to be stubborn and obstinate but unable to be. It's so entertaining.

Not bothering to take his attention off Ichigo and all that skin on display, he shrugs a nonchalant motion. "Yet you like all of my closet, so I don't thing you get to judge." Though, he thinks that bit of snark is probably just second nature more than real complaint.

He's really just enjoying himself. He was a little too drunk and definitely too desperate the night before to take his time, but when Ichigo says he's going to lose it, Shiro smirks and looks back up to see Ichigo's expression. "It's literally always a good time to say that." He doesn't wait for a reaction, he leans in and kisses Ichigo, bringing one hand up to slide into the hair at the back of Ichigo's head.

[white--moon]

That seems to have killed the idea of busting him up, which is exactly what he wanted. The last thing he's interested in is getting his shit kicked in the night before he gets murdered. If he's going to bite it tomorrow during this meeting, he wants to spend his entire night stoned and fucking. Since he agreed to avoid the first part, he'll replace it with spending time with Ichigo instead.

"Ok. We'll get food." He sort of frowns about that first comment though, really not sure what that's supposed to mean. He doesn't care enough to ask, though. "No, I just-" Maybe this just shows how unused to having regular friends he is. He shakes his head. "Whatever. You're weird too." A grill near a school campus doesn't sound impressive, but considering Shiro's go to food most days is various dive bars, he doesn't really have much to say. And maybe a grill is better anyway, because anything too nice is probably weird for friends. "Sounds good."

He swallows, eyeing skin and muscle and the way Ichigo breathes. That skin feels smooth and warm against his hand, the muscle underneath firm. Ichigo has always been everything he wanted and he hates that. He hates how much he wants every part of him, every aspect of him. He wants to hate Ichigo, especially in moments like this, where they're so close but not close enough. But he can't do that no matter how hard he tries.

He flattens his palm against Ichigo's back instead and enjoys how easily Ichigo got practically naked for him. "How d'you manage to make something as hideous as that bow look so appealing?"

[black--sun]

Ichigo smirks. Shiro, tongue-tied? Rare. Cute. “Everyone’s weird if you watch them long enough.” Though, considering the killers and lowlifes he tracks, his views might be slanted.

The small space feels close and still and it’s impossible not to focus on every little gesture. Ichigo could lean forward, close the distance, and take Shiro’s mouth the way he’s been aching to. He craves that contact. But that comment about him taking advantage the night he showed up keeps surfacing like an ugly splinter in his brain. It has him twisted with uncertainty. He’s not even sure Shiro meant it. He likely just wanted to hack away at Ichigo’s moral high ground and remind Ichigo that he rolls around in the mud like everyone else. But now, Ichigo can’t stop wondering if he was hurting Shiro on purpose on some subconscious level. He sure as hell was being selfish. 

Ichigo snorts, breaths shaky as that palm flattens and heat pools beneath it. He’s practically pressed against Shiro by this point he wants that touch so much. “I definitely don’t, you’re just…” What is he? Biased? In love? Infatuated? Ichigo swallows and looks away to distract himself. “Pretty sure it comes off.” He reaches up and tugs the tail end, pulling it free. Except it apparently served some unknowable, impractical purpose, because the straps slacken as if the whole thing might slide straight into the floor, unraveling into some horrible, sadistic puzzle. “What the hell," he mutters, eyes falling to where it's barely hanging on. “Who designs this crap?” He’s never getting it back together.

[white--moon]

He blinks and his brows go up slightly, before he snorts a small laugh. "That sounds like something a weirdo would say."

Ichigo never gave himself enough credit for how attractive he is. "You definitely do." Ichigo looks so flustered and like he's trying not to be into this. It makes Shiro almost feel bad for enjoying it. Almost. He smirks and huffs a laugh under his breath when Ichigo finally settles on saying Shiro's sure it comes off. Of course he's sure it comes off. Before he can come up with something witty to say, though, it does come off. He laughs again, "No clue, but I'm gonna find out and tip them generously." He leans back just enough to eye the way it's basically just draped against Ichigo at this point. "I honestly think it looks better this way." It's definitely one of those pieces that looks best on the floor in a heap.

He still can't get over how fast and willingly Ichigo stripped to start trying it on. That makes it seem an awful lot like Ichigo was as into the idea of changing stall sex and Shiro. He hooks a finger into a loose strap and pulls, helping it slide the rest of the way free. Then he runs his fingertips up Ichigo's thigh.

[white--moon]

Ichigo looks at him like he can barely control himself. It's a looks Shiro enjoys greatly. It fills him with quiet anticipation. It always has.

He wonders if Ichigo knows how much like an abusive boyfriend he sounds. But he gets it, and he knows from experience that Ichigo isn't that kind of creep. "How 'bout you just bang me instead of bang me up? Enough people are trying to do that right now, I'm sure you'll get to see me turn pretty colors soon enough."

Good. Maybe Ichigo does actually mean sex. Or- Shiro's eyes narrow slightly as he watches Ichigo struggle- maybe he's just distracted. He makes no effort to pretend he hasn't been staring at all the skin on display and shrugs. "I just assumed." What the fuck is he doing to himself? To both of them? Dinner, just as friends. He's rubbing salt into his own wound is what he's doing. "I'm not a weirdo. Where d'you wanna go?"

The scowl is so natural on Ichigo's face it takes Shiro a moment to even notice it. He offers up a sheepish grin, trying so hard and failing miserably to keep his attention on Ichigo's expression.

Fucking- Fuck. The way Ichigo steps forward like he has no control over it, like Shiro's a magnet. Shiro wants to get his hands and mouth all over all of that skin. He slides his hand around behind Ichigo, one finger still inched under the strap in some comical farce of helping Ichigo fit into what definitely doesn't amount to clothing. His palm lingers against Ichigo's back, the touch light like he expects it to trigger Ichigo's better judgement and put an end to this before it starts.

[black--sun]

Ichigo’s mouth quirks into a smirk, the suggestion tempting enough to make him pause. But the smirk sours just as quickly. “Don’t remind me,” he mutters, voice low, edged with irritation. The thought of someone else laying hands on Shiro twists something raw inside him. It makes protective instincts flare, unbidden and unwelcome.

Ichigo snorts as Shiro says he just assumed. Typical. “You always do. I still want the food.” His smirk returns, sharper this time. “You’re a weirdo because you say it like it’s not a sure thing that we’re definitely going to have to eat and we’ll definitely be together when it happens.” Pretty hard for him to call anyone a weirdo while he’s letting this outfit get further with him than Shiro ever has, but he manages it with pure stubborn tenacity. Ichigo shrugs. “There's a grill over by the campus I used to eat at. You’ll like it.” He feels certain, because Shiro loves good food and this place is basically a classic. 

Shiro’s answering grin makes Ichigo’s brow twitch, the kind of look he wants to take a picture of—frame it, maybe, so the next time Shiro asks why he loves banging him or banging him up, Ichigo won’t need words.  

The barest slide of a finger shatters his train of thought. Shiro doesn’t play fair. He never has. Ichigo has always wanted him more than he should. The touch draws a shudder from Ichigo that he fights to suppress, every nerve in his back lighting up as that hand drifts around and Ichigo leans closer. Heat ripples outward, leaving him unsteady, breath catching hard in his throat. He doesn’t know why he lets this happen. Why he lets Shiro drag him into dangerous waters where every inch of contact feels like a freefall. Why he dove into this outfit like a kamikaze pilot intent on taking them both down. 

When those fingers brush the small of his back, it takes everything in him not to make a sound—but his pulse stutters, his resolve frays further, and Shiro’s barely even touched him.

[white--moon]

That seems to have killed the idea of busting him up, which is exactly what he wanted. The last thing he's interested in is getting his shit kicked in the night before he gets murdered. If he's going to bite it tomorrow during this meeting, he wants to spend his entire night stoned and fucking. Since he agreed to avoid the first part, he'll replace it with spending time with Ichigo instead.

"Ok. We'll get food." He sort of frowns about that first comment though, really not sure what that's supposed to mean. He doesn't care enough to ask, though. "No, I just-" Maybe this just shows how unused to having regular friends he is. He shakes his head. "Whatever. You're weird too." A grill near a school campus doesn't sound impressive, but considering Shiro's go to food most days is various dive bars, he doesn't really have much to say. And maybe a grill is better anyway, because anything too nice is probably weird for friends. "Sounds good."

He swallows, eyeing skin and muscle and the way Ichigo breathes. That skin feels smooth and warm against his hand, the muscle underneath firm. Ichigo has always been everything he wanted and he hates that. He hates how much he wants every part of him, every aspect of him. He wants to hate Ichigo, especially in moments like this, where they're so close but not close enough. But he can't do that no matter how hard he tries.

He flattens his palm against Ichigo's back instead and enjoys how easily Ichigo got practically naked for him. "How d'you manage to make something as hideous as that bow look so appealing?"

[white--moon]

"Fuck in a pile of clothes? Yeah, I think that sounds great." He doubts that's the part Ichigo actually meant. More likely, Ichigo meant they should fight first.

He catches Ichigo glance back at him, but pretends he doesn't and keeps his attention elsewhere. It's too easy to touch Ichigo. It's too easy to want to touch him even when he knows he shouldn't.

No, it doesn't, indeed. He honestly has no idea if Grimmjow would go for it or if his stupid grudge and his stupid pride would get in the way. It'd probably be better if it did. He scoffs. "Sane people? Pff." You'd have to be crazy not to find Grimmjow attractive. "What's that make you, then? You been interested in him since before you knew me."

His brows furrow at Ichigo's statement. If he wanted through this door, he'd get through the door. "No," he drawls. "I'm just showing off my manners, asshole. You closed the door, I'm bein' fucking respectful." Like he's been trying to be since they broke up, though he'd admit he hasn't always been stellar at it. The door opens though, and Shiro looks Ichigo up and down. That sweatshirt is for sure the coziest, most average thing he picked up on his venture through this store, but it looks good on Ichigo anyway. It sends a slight, ghost of longing through Shiro. It makes him miss the lazy, comfortable moments they shared, warm, under a blanket, just the two of them. He tried to shake it off, straightening from his lazy lean against the wall. "Ugh, you're even hot in a sweatshirt." He crowds Ichigo back into the dressing room. "What else did you grab?"

[black--sun]

He huffs. “I’ll fuck you wherever you want, so long as you have enough bruises.” That’s probably a normal friend thing to say—if he doesn’t think too hard about it.

“Exactly,” he mutters. If Shiro thinks he’s unaware of that, he’s missed the point.

He rolls his eyes. “I closed it to keep other people out.” Obviously. But then he smirks a little. “Showing off your manners, huh?” That softens more of his resolve than he’d like. He snorts at the comment about the sweatshirt. “Like you can talk. Anyway, if I shut a door in your face and I want it to stay closed, you’ll know, because I’ll break something if you come through it.” He’s amused, until Shiro does come through the door and pushes into the small space. Ichigo edges back, telling himself he’s not waiting for another touch, not waiting to feel those fingers against his skin. Except, he is.

Looking for a distraction, his eyes fall to his pile of clothes when Shiro asks. “Uh, I got…” Ichigo blinks at the little, black contraption that might, maybe, cover his dick—but probably not. He picks it up with a finger and shoots Shiro a look. “What the hell is this?” 

He doesn’t need to ask how it got there. He tosses it Shiro’s way, then regrets the knee jerk reaction and wishes he’d kept it, because Shiro picked it out, and he can hate it and still want it if he feels like it. But they don’t go home together anymore, and he’s not hoarding skimpy clothes for Shiro at his place like some kind of mistress. So now he has to pretend this was exactly what he’d meant to do. “Try again. Make it tasteful this time. I’m not wearing a bow around my neck like a pet. You wear it.” Except his mouth goes dry—because Shiro might strip right here and put it on. That’s too easy to picture. He snatches it back. “Never mind. Don’t. I’m keeping it.”

[white--moon]

The first part of that statement is exciting enough he almost misses the second half. Something tells him Ichigo doesn't mean track marks. Hah. "I can't walk around lookin' like I get my ass kicked all the time, sorry. But I'll let you leave hickies and teeth marks wherever you want. Does that count for bruises?" He's betting it will be alluring enough. He knows Ichigo likes to mark him up, even if it's not with his fists.

Ichigo confirms the less than same allegation so easily that he smirks and snorts a small laugh. They really are quite the trio.

He arches a brow, then looks around to make a show of the lack of other people. "The front desk kid?" Fine, it's totally normal to close the changing stall door. That doesn't mean he's not going to give Ichigo a hard time for giving him a hard time about respecting said closed door. "Hopefully whatever you break isn't part of me." Obviously Ichigo means he'd break something on Shiro. "I'd rather have a warning about coming through that kind of door first. I don't particularly like it when things get broken." He closes the door behind him, mostly because Ichigo made that comment about keeping other people out.

He laughs at Ichigo's reaction when he spots the skimpy excuse for clothing he'd tossed into the pile of clothing. He honestly had expected Ichigo to see it and toss it right back where he found it before making it this far. "Not totally sure but you should try it on."

It's reactive to do a little half duck when it's thrown back at him, but it's small and fabric and he snatches it before it hits the ground, amused and grinning. "But you'd be such a cute pet." Ichigo tells him to wear it. He glances at it, then shrugs. "Fine. Bet it'll look amazing on-" Ichigo changes his mind so fast Shiro doesn't even finish his sentence, let alone figure out if he's taking up that challenge now. "Ok. Are you gonna try it on then?"

[black--sun]

“Your job keeps sounding worse the more I hear about it. You should quit.” He’s mostly joking. Mostly. His eyes flick to his favorite biting spot, heat flaring low in his gut despite himself. “Wherever I want?” Like he doesn’t already know the answer. Yes. Obviously. He just wants to hear Shiro say it again. “Seems fair,” he adds, like he’s not already trying it mentally and itching get very real hands on him.

He sputters. He can’t believe Shiro is giving him a hard time about not stripping in public. Actually, no. He can believe it. Ichigo huffs, Shiro knows what he meant. “Uh huh. Fine. You’ll know because I’ll tell you, since apparently I’m not allowed to break your face if you want to keep looking like a big shot.” He’s snarking, but the sound of the door clicking shut makes his pulse stutter.

He shoots Shiro a glower. He’d be the pet that bit someone’s face off for looking at Shiro wrong.

He wonders if Shiro realizes he told him to try it on twice. Which means he probably wants Ichigo in it and isn’t just seeing how out of sorts he can get him. Ichigo’s gaze drops to the offending garment and the awful bow that looks like it was designed specifically to ruin his day. He rolls his eyes, drops it beside him, and starts pulling off his clothes. “I feel like I deserve something nice for this.”

Someday, Ichigo swears, he’ll figure out how Shiro gets him to do this kind of thing—and then he’s going to turn it around on him. Not that it would matter. Shiro would happily slip into anything strappy and suggestive before Ichigo even got the words out. He was about to earlier, before Ichigo snatched it back.

The sweatshirt comes off. Then the harness, because the last thing they need is an accidental discharge from his gun while Ichigo’s tangled in what must be the world’s smallest lingerie.

Once he’s stepping into it, though, he realizes he has no idea how to put the thing on. Shiro’s the expert, not him. “Are you sure this is for guys?” he growls, struggling as the elastic fights back, inching where it doesn’t belong. The straps cling to his shoulders and chest, and the damn thing tries to ride up his ass every time he moves. If Shiro is going to get him in these things, they’re going to have to be simpler. He finally gives up with a snarl of disgust when it’s mostly in place, but still wrong. “Fix it.” He’s at least got the stupid bow in the right spot.

[white--moon]

He should quit. What a joke. "Don't think I haven't thought about it." If he was gonna quit, he should have done it after Yhwach. He's in way too deep now. Besides, if he did manage it, he'd be without a job and hobby to keep him busy, without a source of income, and still without Ichigo. All that sounds miserable. A smirk lifts the corners of his mouth and he sort of spreads his arms, not that the space allows for much of that, "Take your pick." He knows exactly where Ichigo would start.

His brows pull together slightly and a hand raises to against one side of his own jaw. "Ow, damn. Why would you wanna break my face anyway? I'm too pretty for that." He could definitely walk around looking busted up every now and then without issue. It's not like he never gets his hands dirty. But regularly looking like he got his shit pushed in could raise questions and he doesn't need anyone assuming he's weak.

He definitely expected more than a dirty look for his pet comment. He smirks in response.

"Oh I'll give you something nice alright." But maybe Ichigo doesn't mean sex. He shrugs a little. "I just assumed this was my treat. Not nice enough? I could add in a nice dinner." Fuck, that's a date. "As friends."

Watching the confusion enter Ichigo's features while he tries to navigate the lack of fabric is amusing and endearing and he's so tempted to pull his phone out, but he's pretty sure Ichigo would, as he put it, break his face for taking pictures. "I actually doubt it's for guys." Ichigo even trying to put it on is so much further than he thought he'd get when he tossed it on the pile, and now Ichigo's telling him to fix it like Shiro can concentrate on anything other than that stupid bow and all the exposed skin. It's not an opportunity he's willing to pass up though. The space is so small he takes one small step before he's in touching range, and immediately hooks fingers under one pitiful strap, tugging lightly as he runs his fingers the entire length of it.

[black--sun]

He isn’t surprised. He’s also not surprised Shiro hasn’t. He doesn’t think Shiro would know what to do with himself. Shiro spreads his arms and even if Ichigo prides himself on not being a complete animal most days, he can’t help his eyes slide along the lines of Shiro’s very appealing body. The sight makes his fingers itch. He swallows, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. He wants to take Shiro up on… all of it. Every inch. Every offer.

“You’re pretty,” he says, exhaling hard. “But it’s a different kind of pretty when you’re banged up.” It’s the truth—and also probably weird. He’s never wanted to mess anyone else up, not Yuu or any of his other flings.

He snorts. “Good.” But he’s too busy figuring out the outfit to give that statement the attention it deserves. Ichigo glances up though. “What? You want to buy me clothes?” It’s not like Shiro can’t afford it. “I’d rather have the dinner.” Though he pushes out a breath. “We are friends, weirdo. You already agreed.” Though now he’s thinking about the time they went out to a nice restaurant. He damn near proposed that night. Like ninety percent. He still has the ring he was going to give him.

Then Shiro calls it a girl’s outfit. Ichigo pauses, scowling. “That explains so much.” It explains everything—why nothing fits, why it’s all going sideways and still somehow up. He’s not putting it back on the rack though. It’s been too many intimate places at this point.

And… he might have made a mistake. That hand reaches up and all he can think about it the lingering tough from earlier, cool against the heat of his skin. Then Shiro’s pulling that strap and he takes a half step forward before he realizes Shiro might not be tugging it to bring him closer. But too late. He’s already shown he has zero self control. Ichigo swallows again, chest lifting and falling, feeling the little thump of his pulse in his throat. Whatever he moves, it works. Something slides into place and suddenly everything that was pulling opposite directions starts laying flat and it’s instantly more comfortable. “Oh. That’s… that’s better.” He glances down, except all he can see is that hand now.

[white--moon]

Ichigo looks at him like he can barely control himself. It's a looks Shiro enjoys greatly. It fills him with quiet anticipation. It always has.

He wonders if Ichigo knows how much like an abusive boyfriend he sounds. But he gets it, and he knows from experience that Ichigo isn't that kind of creep. "How 'bout you just bang me instead of bang me up? Enough people are trying to do that right now, I'm sure you'll get to see me turn pretty colors soon enough."

Good. Maybe Ichigo does actually mean sex. Or- Shiro's eyes narrow slightly as he watches Ichigo struggle- maybe he's just distracted. He makes no effort to pretend he hasn't been staring at all the skin on display and shrugs. "I just assumed." What the fuck is he doing to himself? To both of them? Dinner, just as friends. He's rubbing salt into his own wound is what he's doing. "I'm not a weirdo. Where d'you wanna go?"

The scowl is so natural on Ichigo's face it takes Shiro a moment to even notice it. He offers up a sheepish grin, trying so hard and failing miserably to keep his attention on Ichigo's expression.

Fucking- Fuck. The way Ichigo steps forward like he has no control over it, like Shiro's a magnet. Shiro wants to get his hands and mouth all over all of that skin. He slides his hand around behind Ichigo, one finger still inched under the strap in some comical farce of helping Ichigo fit into what definitely doesn't amount to clothing. His palm lingers against Ichigo's back, the touch light like he expects it to trigger Ichigo's better judgement and put an end to this before it starts.

[white--moon]

"Fuck in a pile of clothes? Yeah, I think that sounds great." He doubts that's the part Ichigo actually meant. More likely, Ichigo meant they should fight first.

He catches Ichigo glance back at him, but pretends he doesn't and keeps his attention elsewhere. It's too easy to touch Ichigo. It's too easy to want to touch him even when he knows he shouldn't.

No, it doesn't, indeed. He honestly has no idea if Grimmjow would go for it or if his stupid grudge and his stupid pride would get in the way. It'd probably be better if it did. He scoffs. "Sane people? Pff." You'd have to be crazy not to find Grimmjow attractive. "What's that make you, then? You been interested in him since before you knew me."

His brows furrow at Ichigo's statement. If he wanted through this door, he'd get through the door. "No," he drawls. "I'm just showing off my manners, asshole. You closed the door, I'm bein' fucking respectful." Like he's been trying to be since they broke up, though he'd admit he hasn't always been stellar at it. The door opens though, and Shiro looks Ichigo up and down. That sweatshirt is for sure the coziest, most average thing he picked up on his venture through this store, but it looks good on Ichigo anyway. It sends a slight, ghost of longing through Shiro. It makes him miss the lazy, comfortable moments they shared, warm, under a blanket, just the two of them. He tried to shake it off, straightening from his lazy lean against the wall. "Ugh, you're even hot in a sweatshirt." He crowds Ichigo back into the dressing room. "What else did you grab?"

[black--sun]

He huffs. “I’ll fuck you wherever you want, so long as you have enough bruises.” That’s probably a normal friend thing to say—if he doesn’t think too hard about it.

“Exactly,” he mutters. If Shiro thinks he’s unaware of that, he’s missed the point.

He rolls his eyes. “I closed it to keep other people out.” Obviously. But then he smirks a little. “Showing off your manners, huh?” That softens more of his resolve than he’d like. He snorts at the comment about the sweatshirt. “Like you can talk. Anyway, if I shut a door in your face and I want it to stay closed, you’ll know, because I’ll break something if you come through it.” He’s amused, until Shiro does come through the door and pushes into the small space. Ichigo edges back, telling himself he’s not waiting for another touch, not waiting to feel those fingers against his skin. Except, he is.

Looking for a distraction, his eyes fall to his pile of clothes when Shiro asks. “Uh, I got…” Ichigo blinks at the little, black contraption that might, maybe, cover his dick—but probably not. He picks it up with a finger and shoots Shiro a look. “What the hell is this?” 

He doesn’t need to ask how it got there. He tosses it Shiro’s way, then regrets the knee jerk reaction and wishes he’d kept it, because Shiro picked it out, and he can hate it and still want it if he feels like it. But they don’t go home together anymore, and he’s not hoarding skimpy clothes for Shiro at his place like some kind of mistress. So now he has to pretend this was exactly what he’d meant to do. “Try again. Make it tasteful this time. I’m not wearing a bow around my neck like a pet. You wear it.” Except his mouth goes dry—because Shiro might strip right here and put it on. That’s too easy to picture. He snatches it back. “Never mind. Don’t. I’m keeping it.”

[white--moon]

The first part of that statement is exciting enough he almost misses the second half. Something tells him Ichigo doesn't mean track marks. Hah. "I can't walk around lookin' like I get my ass kicked all the time, sorry. But I'll let you leave hickies and teeth marks wherever you want. Does that count for bruises?" He's betting it will be alluring enough. He knows Ichigo likes to mark him up, even if it's not with his fists.

Ichigo confirms the less than same allegation so easily that he smirks and snorts a small laugh. They really are quite the trio.

He arches a brow, then looks around to make a show of the lack of other people. "The front desk kid?" Fine, it's totally normal to close the changing stall door. That doesn't mean he's not going to give Ichigo a hard time for giving him a hard time about respecting said closed door. "Hopefully whatever you break isn't part of me." Obviously Ichigo means he'd break something on Shiro. "I'd rather have a warning about coming through that kind of door first. I don't particularly like it when things get broken." He closes the door behind him, mostly because Ichigo made that comment about keeping other people out.

He laughs at Ichigo's reaction when he spots the skimpy excuse for clothing he'd tossed into the pile of clothing. He honestly had expected Ichigo to see it and toss it right back where he found it before making it this far. "Not totally sure but you should try it on."

It's reactive to do a little half duck when it's thrown back at him, but it's small and fabric and he snatches it before it hits the ground, amused and grinning. "But you'd be such a cute pet." Ichigo tells him to wear it. He glances at it, then shrugs. "Fine. Bet it'll look amazing on-" Ichigo changes his mind so fast Shiro doesn't even finish his sentence, let alone figure out if he's taking up that challenge now. "Ok. Are you gonna try it on then?"

[black--sun]

“Your job keeps sounding worse the more I hear about it. You should quit.” He’s mostly joking. Mostly. His eyes flick to his favorite biting spot, heat flaring low in his gut despite himself. “Wherever I want?” Like he doesn’t already know the answer. Yes. Obviously. He just wants to hear Shiro say it again. “Seems fair,” he adds, like he’s not already trying it mentally and itching get very real hands on him.

He sputters. He can’t believe Shiro is giving him a hard time about not stripping in public. Actually, no. He can believe it. Ichigo huffs, Shiro knows what he meant. “Uh huh. Fine. You’ll know because I’ll tell you, since apparently I’m not allowed to break your face if you want to keep looking like a big shot.” He’s snarking, but the sound of the door clicking shut makes his pulse stutter.

He shoots Shiro a glower. He’d be the pet that bit someone’s face off for looking at Shiro wrong.

He wonders if Shiro realizes he told him to try it on twice. Which means he probably wants Ichigo in it and isn’t just seeing how out of sorts he can get him. Ichigo’s gaze drops to the offending garment and the awful bow that looks like it was designed specifically to ruin his day. He rolls his eyes, drops it beside him, and starts pulling off his clothes. “I feel like I deserve something nice for this.”

Someday, Ichigo swears, he’ll figure out how Shiro gets him to do this kind of thing—and then he’s going to turn it around on him. Not that it would matter. Shiro would happily slip into anything strappy and suggestive before Ichigo even got the words out. He was about to earlier, before Ichigo snatched it back.

The sweatshirt comes off. Then the harness, because the last thing they need is an accidental discharge from his gun while Ichigo’s tangled in what must be the world’s smallest lingerie.

Once he’s stepping into it, though, he realizes he has no idea how to put the thing on. Shiro’s the expert, not him. “Are you sure this is for guys?” he growls, struggling as the elastic fights back, inching where it doesn’t belong. The straps cling to his shoulders and chest, and the damn thing tries to ride up his ass every time he moves. If Shiro is going to get him in these things, they’re going to have to be simpler. He finally gives up with a snarl of disgust when it’s mostly in place, but still wrong. “Fix it.” He’s at least got the stupid bow in the right spot.

[white--moon]

He should quit. What a joke. "Don't think I haven't thought about it." If he was gonna quit, he should have done it after Yhwach. He's in way too deep now. Besides, if he did manage it, he'd be without a job and hobby to keep him busy, without a source of income, and still without Ichigo. All that sounds miserable. A smirk lifts the corners of his mouth and he sort of spreads his arms, not that the space allows for much of that, "Take your pick." He knows exactly where Ichigo would start.

His brows pull together slightly and a hand raises to against one side of his own jaw. "Ow, damn. Why would you wanna break my face anyway? I'm too pretty for that." He could definitely walk around looking busted up every now and then without issue. It's not like he never gets his hands dirty. But regularly looking like he got his shit pushed in could raise questions and he doesn't need anyone assuming he's weak.

He definitely expected more than a dirty look for his pet comment. He smirks in response.

"Oh I'll give you something nice alright." But maybe Ichigo doesn't mean sex. He shrugs a little. "I just assumed this was my treat. Not nice enough? I could add in a nice dinner." Fuck, that's a date. "As friends."

Watching the confusion enter Ichigo's features while he tries to navigate the lack of fabric is amusing and endearing and he's so tempted to pull his phone out, but he's pretty sure Ichigo would, as he put it, break his face for taking pictures. "I actually doubt it's for guys." Ichigo even trying to put it on is so much further than he thought he'd get when he tossed it on the pile, and now Ichigo's telling him to fix it like Shiro can concentrate on anything other than that stupid bow and all the exposed skin. It's not an opportunity he's willing to pass up though. The space is so small he takes one small step before he's in touching range, and immediately hooks fingers under one pitiful strap, tugging lightly as he runs his fingers the entire length of it.

[white--moon]

"Fuck in a pile of clothes? Yeah, I think that sounds great." He doubts that's the part Ichigo actually meant. More likely, Ichigo meant they should fight first.

He catches Ichigo glance back at him, but pretends he doesn't and keeps his attention elsewhere. It's too easy to touch Ichigo. It's too easy to want to touch him even when he knows he shouldn't.

No, it doesn't, indeed. He honestly has no idea if Grimmjow would go for it or if his stupid grudge and his stupid pride would get in the way. It'd probably be better if it did. He scoffs. "Sane people? Pff." You'd have to be crazy not to find Grimmjow attractive. "What's that make you, then? You been interested in him since before you knew me."

His brows furrow at Ichigo's statement. If he wanted through this door, he'd get through the door. "No," he drawls. "I'm just showing off my manners, asshole. You closed the door, I'm bein' fucking respectful." Like he's been trying to be since they broke up, though he'd admit he hasn't always been stellar at it. The door opens though, and Shiro looks Ichigo up and down. That sweatshirt is for sure the coziest, most average thing he picked up on his venture through this store, but it looks good on Ichigo anyway. It sends a slight, ghost of longing through Shiro. It makes him miss the lazy, comfortable moments they shared, warm, under a blanket, just the two of them. He tried to shake it off, straightening from his lazy lean against the wall. "Ugh, you're even hot in a sweatshirt." He crowds Ichigo back into the dressing room. "What else did you grab?"

[black--sun]

He huffs. “I’ll fuck you wherever you want, so long as you have enough bruises.” That’s probably a normal friend thing to say—if he doesn’t think too hard about it.

“Exactly,” he mutters. If Shiro thinks he’s unaware of that, he’s missed the point.

He rolls his eyes. “I closed it to keep other people out.” Obviously. But then he smirks a little. “Showing off your manners, huh?” That softens more of his resolve than he’d like. He snorts at the comment about the sweatshirt. “Like you can talk. Anyway, if I shut a door in your face and I want it to stay closed, you’ll know, because I’ll break something if you come through it.” He’s amused, until Shiro does come through the door and pushes into the small space. Ichigo edges back, telling himself he’s not waiting for another touch, not waiting to feel those fingers against his skin. Except, he is.

Looking for a distraction, his eyes fall to his pile of clothes when Shiro asks. “Uh, I got…” Ichigo blinks at the little, black contraption that might, maybe, cover his dick—but probably not. He picks it up with a finger and shoots Shiro a look. “What the hell is this?” 

He doesn’t need to ask how it got there. He tosses it Shiro’s way, then regrets the knee jerk reaction and wishes he’d kept it, because Shiro picked it out, and he can hate it and still want it if he feels like it. But they don’t go home together anymore, and he’s not hoarding skimpy clothes for Shiro at his place like some kind of mistress. So now he has to pretend this was exactly what he’d meant to do. “Try again. Make it tasteful this time. I’m not wearing a bow around my neck like a pet. You wear it.” Except his mouth goes dry—because Shiro might strip right here and put it on. That’s too easy to picture. He snatches it back. “Never mind. Don’t. I’m keeping it.”

[white--moon]

The first part of that statement is exciting enough he almost misses the second half. Something tells him Ichigo doesn't mean track marks. Hah. "I can't walk around lookin' like I get my ass kicked all the time, sorry. But I'll let you leave hickies and teeth marks wherever you want. Does that count for bruises?" He's betting it will be alluring enough. He knows Ichigo likes to mark him up, even if it's not with his fists.

Ichigo confirms the less than same allegation so easily that he smirks and snorts a small laugh. They really are quite the trio.

He arches a brow, then looks around to make a show of the lack of other people. "The front desk kid?" Fine, it's totally normal to close the changing stall door. That doesn't mean he's not going to give Ichigo a hard time for giving him a hard time about respecting said closed door. "Hopefully whatever you break isn't part of me." Obviously Ichigo means he'd break something on Shiro. "I'd rather have a warning about coming through that kind of door first. I don't particularly like it when things get broken." He closes the door behind him, mostly because Ichigo made that comment about keeping other people out.

He laughs at Ichigo's reaction when he spots the skimpy excuse for clothing he'd tossed into the pile of clothing. He honestly had expected Ichigo to see it and toss it right back where he found it before making it this far. "Not totally sure but you should try it on."

It's reactive to do a little half duck when it's thrown back at him, but it's small and fabric and he snatches it before it hits the ground, amused and grinning. "But you'd be such a cute pet." Ichigo tells him to wear it. He glances at it, then shrugs. "Fine. Bet it'll look amazing on-" Ichigo changes his mind so fast Shiro doesn't even finish his sentence, let alone figure out if he's taking up that challenge now. "Ok. Are you gonna try it on then?"

[white--moon]

An expression somewhere between tired and unimpressed flickers across his features and he shakes his head slightly. "Probably not." It's moments like this that he misses when his crew was smaller. Not everyone that came and went through the warehouse crew was loyal, but it sure seems like he was more respected back then.

That makes him laugh. Still smirking and a little sheepish, he says, "In your defense, I'm good at not lettin' that distract me." At least not in so far as getting his ass handed to him because of it. It was certainly a deciding factor on why Ichigo walked away from his attempted murder, that and because Shiro's opportunistic. Ichigo was strong and a good fighter and couldn't sell him out because Shiro knew his dirty secrets. It was really a win-win for Shiro. Ichigo's response to his comment about his drug use sends a flash of stung anger through him. Ichigo's not around to see anything. Hell, if Ichigo had been around, he might have had the support he needed to keep from using again to begin with. Part of him knows it's not fair to pin his relapse on Ichigo, but he's got it in his head that it wouldn't have happened if things had turned out different between them. "You don't have to look." It's muttered because any louder and he wouldn't be able to keep the hurt from his voice.

He turns a sour look in Ichigo's direction for that, but yeah ok, fine. Not only would it not be smart to get between them, but it probably would be good entertainment too. Still. "You're about to find out how well I can still fight." He arches a brow, "If I were you? I'd totally defend my friend and then make out with you. Then maybe invite Grimmjow for a threesome." Ok all of that might be true except the first part. He'd watch first too.

This store is distracting. He's not even trying to shop for himself but he finds himself idly pushing hangers aside and shuffling through stacked clothes. Every time he's ever been here he's found something he looks great in. He stops his casual perusal to follow Ichigo to the counter, not surprised when there's no real acknowledgement from the clerk. Shiro can't blame the kid, he'd hate a job like this too.

[black--sun]

Ichigo wants to argue. Fighting to keep words from coming out is like trying to swallow a rock. It feels wrong. It twists his stomach. How could he not look? That's like telling him not to care. That's not even what Shiro wants. Ichigo lowers his voice, because he’s not trying to start a fight. “You’re so full of shit. When something bad happens to someone you care about, it’s not better just because you didn’t watch. You know that.” That time Ichigo got a stomach full of glass and went missing from the city for a few days made that clear. 

He tries to look as innocent as possible in the face of that sour expression, but he’s definitely not managing it. He likes the idea of Shiro jumping him more than any smart person should. There's definitely something wrong with him. He smirks. “You’re the one that’d have to reimburse the store to pay for the damage if you want to keep shopping here. And we’d just end up screwing around on a pile of clothes somewhere anyway.” They don’t fight because Shiro doesn’t trust himself, not because Ichigo is opposed. He’s never been afraid of getting hurt. But his brain is still riding that imagination train hard enough that Shiro’s threesome idea doesn’t have any trouble sparking and flaring to life behind his eyes. He blinks and catches his toes on a table leg, knocking his knee and hip into the corner edge. He grunts at the sudden stop and hisses a curse, still nonplussed and thinking of bare skin and bloody knuckles. He’s not even sure what to say to that. His tongue feels thick in his mouth as he straightens and steps around the table like it didn’t just nearly take him down. But there’s heat creeping up the back of his neck. “You think that suggestion would make him less mad or more?” Which isn’t a no, because he’s not stupid. But also, “Since when are you interested in Grimmjow?” Is that a thing now? Ichigo’s asked about it before. Shiro’s answers never made it sound like it happened, but he also never directly said it didn’t. Probably on purpose. He looks over in spite of trying to be nonchalant. “Are you and Grimmjow fucking?” 

The key’s tag has a number on it, which seems pointless since there’s only two doors, and the small lock wouldn’t stop anyone if they wanted inside. He uses the key and pushes the door open, dropping it and the stack of clothes onto a chair. He glances back to Shiro and his empty hands. “You didn’t find anything?” It’s the first time it occurs to him that he might’ve dragged Shiro here just for himself and not because Shiro wanted to shop. He closes the door, because it won’t stop Shiro if he decides to come along, but it will keep someone from unintentionally seeing his gun as the distressed sweater comes off. He doesn’t need to try on the sweatshirt, but he does.

[white--moon]

Yeah. He does know that. He knows that from too many different situations, too many different times. This isn't the same. "Is it really a bad thing when, in this case, bad's just a difference in perspective?" Ichigo's right. He's full of shit. Even he thinks it's bad. He hates it, but he loves it. The need is miserable, but the high always seems worth it.

He scoffs. "What's your point? I could buy this whole store." It makes no difference to him if they broke a few tables, scared the clerk away, tore up some clothes and fucked in what was left. "Screwin' around on a pile of clothes could be fun though." He nearly runs into Ichigo's back when Ichigo walks into the table like he's got the coordination of a toddler. "So who's reflexes did you think were blown again?" It's an off handed comment while his palm comes up to brush lightly against the small of Ichigo's back before he catches himself and puts a bit of space between them again. It's pretty funny that his play on how things would go was such a distraction. "Fuck. Do I look like a psychic? I have no idea. More, probably, but that doesn't mean he'd shoot it down." More like he'd shoot Shiro but whatever. He arches a brow, "Who isn't interested in Grimmjow?" He's hot, he's grumpy, he's tall; what's not to be interested in? "Not currently."

He follows to the back corner where the changing room is and watches Ichigo set his stack of clothing down. He shrugs. "I was distracted imaging you in the things you picked out." Which is at least partly true. But then Ichigo closes the door and scoffs loudly. "Rude. You're not even gonna invite me in for my opinion?" Maybe this is Ichigo's way of saying no changing room sex. Shiro crosses his arms and leans against a wall while he waits.

[black--sun]

Ichigo blinks. Not because it’s a surprise Shiro has money—of course he does—but because it’s the only drawback he’d managed to think up. “Oh.” He shrugs, feeling the silence stretch a beat too long. “Then we should.”

Shiro would probably love to hit him after all the shit that got said during their breakup. Ichigo starts to mutter for Shiro to shut up, but his breath catches, leaving the words stuck in his mouth when cold fingers brush the hot skin of his back. Ichigo glances back, stomach tight, only to find Shiro already looking away. Ichigo licks his lips. He can still feel that light touch crawling like a phantom ache across his spine.

“No, it doesn’t.” Why is he even still thinking about it? It would make their situation infinitely more complicated. His tendency to self harm via attractive assholes can’t be healthy. But still, he’s having no trouble at all envisioning it. “Sane people?” He nearly sighs. That statement is true, but it doesn’t help Grimmjow be less hot. Or Shiro, either.

Not currently. Ichigo waits for jealousy to surface. It doesn’t. Mostly what surfaces is conflicted anxiety while he wonders if they were sleeping with Grimmjow at the same time or taking turns. They're a literal clusterfuck. And why didn’t Grimmjow tell him? He’s not jealous over Grimmjow. They aren’t together for good reason. And he can’t be jealous over Shiro because Shiro and Grimmjow were complicated before Ichigo ever entered the picture. But he is really fucking annoyed Grimmjow didn’t say anything about it.

He hears the scoff from outside the door, snapping him from his spiraling thoughts. Ichigo huffs an incredulous sound of his own in return. “No, I just didn’t realize something as flimsy as this door could stop you. You really do need a workout.” And help if he seriously thinks Ichigo would try to keep him out of anywhere. He pulls the sweatshirt over his head and nudges the door open for Shiro as he tugs it down to cover his gun.

[white--moon]

"Fuck in a pile of clothes? Yeah, I think that sounds great." He doubts that's the part Ichigo actually meant. More likely, Ichigo meant they should fight first.

He catches Ichigo glance back at him, but pretends he doesn't and keeps his attention elsewhere. It's too easy to touch Ichigo. It's too easy to want to touch him even when he knows he shouldn't.

No, it doesn't, indeed. He honestly has no idea if Grimmjow would go for it or if his stupid grudge and his stupid pride would get in the way. It'd probably be better if it did. He scoffs. "Sane people? Pff." You'd have to be crazy not to find Grimmjow attractive. "What's that make you, then? You been interested in him since before you knew me."

His brows furrow at Ichigo's statement. If he wanted through this door, he'd get through the door. "No," he drawls. "I'm just showing off my manners, asshole. You closed the door, I'm bein' fucking respectful." Like he's been trying to be since they broke up, though he'd admit he hasn't always been stellar at it. The door opens though, and Shiro looks Ichigo up and down. That sweatshirt is for sure the coziest, most average thing he picked up on his venture through this store, but it looks good on Ichigo anyway. It sends a slight, ghost of longing through Shiro. It makes him miss the lazy, comfortable moments they shared, warm, under a blanket, just the two of them. He tried to shake it off, straightening from his lazy lean against the wall. "Ugh, you're even hot in a sweatshirt." He crowds Ichigo back into the dressing room. "What else did you grab?"

[white--moon]

An expression somewhere between tired and unimpressed flickers across his features and he shakes his head slightly. "Probably not." It's moments like this that he misses when his crew was smaller. Not everyone that came and went through the warehouse crew was loyal, but it sure seems like he was more respected back then.

That makes him laugh. Still smirking and a little sheepish, he says, "In your defense, I'm good at not lettin' that distract me." At least not in so far as getting his ass handed to him because of it. It was certainly a deciding factor on why Ichigo walked away from his attempted murder, that and because Shiro's opportunistic. Ichigo was strong and a good fighter and couldn't sell him out because Shiro knew his dirty secrets. It was really a win-win for Shiro. Ichigo's response to his comment about his drug use sends a flash of stung anger through him. Ichigo's not around to see anything. Hell, if Ichigo had been around, he might have had the support he needed to keep from using again to begin with. Part of him knows it's not fair to pin his relapse on Ichigo, but he's got it in his head that it wouldn't have happened if things had turned out different between them. "You don't have to look." It's muttered because any louder and he wouldn't be able to keep the hurt from his voice.

He turns a sour look in Ichigo's direction for that, but yeah ok, fine. Not only would it not be smart to get between them, but it probably would be good entertainment too. Still. "You're about to find out how well I can still fight." He arches a brow, "If I were you? I'd totally defend my friend and then make out with you. Then maybe invite Grimmjow for a threesome." Ok all of that might be true except the first part. He'd watch first too.

This store is distracting. He's not even trying to shop for himself but he finds himself idly pushing hangers aside and shuffling through stacked clothes. Every time he's ever been here he's found something he looks great in. He stops his casual perusal to follow Ichigo to the counter, not surprised when there's no real acknowledgement from the clerk. Shiro can't blame the kid, he'd hate a job like this too.

[black--sun]

Ichigo wants to argue. Fighting to keep words from coming out is like trying to swallow a rock. It feels wrong. It twists his stomach. How could he not look? That's like telling him not to care. That's not even what Shiro wants. Ichigo lowers his voice, because he’s not trying to start a fight. “You’re so full of shit. When something bad happens to someone you care about, it’s not better just because you didn’t watch. You know that.” That time Ichigo got a stomach full of glass and went missing from the city for a few days made that clear. 

He tries to look as innocent as possible in the face of that sour expression, but he’s definitely not managing it. He likes the idea of Shiro jumping him more than any smart person should. There's definitely something wrong with him. He smirks. “You’re the one that’d have to reimburse the store to pay for the damage if you want to keep shopping here. And we’d just end up screwing around on a pile of clothes somewhere anyway.” They don’t fight because Shiro doesn’t trust himself, not because Ichigo is opposed. He’s never been afraid of getting hurt. But his brain is still riding that imagination train hard enough that Shiro’s threesome idea doesn’t have any trouble sparking and flaring to life behind his eyes. He blinks and catches his toes on a table leg, knocking his knee and hip into the corner edge. He grunts at the sudden stop and hisses a curse, still nonplussed and thinking of bare skin and bloody knuckles. He’s not even sure what to say to that. His tongue feels thick in his mouth as he straightens and steps around the table like it didn’t just nearly take him down. But there’s heat creeping up the back of his neck. “You think that suggestion would make him less mad or more?” Which isn’t a no, because he’s not stupid. But also, “Since when are you interested in Grimmjow?” Is that a thing now? Ichigo’s asked about it before. Shiro’s answers never made it sound like it happened, but he also never directly said it didn’t. Probably on purpose. He looks over in spite of trying to be nonchalant. “Are you and Grimmjow fucking?” 

The key’s tag has a number on it, which seems pointless since there’s only two doors, and the small lock wouldn’t stop anyone if they wanted inside. He uses the key and pushes the door open, dropping it and the stack of clothes onto a chair. He glances back to Shiro and his empty hands. “You didn’t find anything?” It’s the first time it occurs to him that he might’ve dragged Shiro here just for himself and not because Shiro wanted to shop. He closes the door, because it won’t stop Shiro if he decides to come along, but it will keep someone from unintentionally seeing his gun as the distressed sweater comes off. He doesn’t need to try on the sweatshirt, but he does.

[white--moon]

Yeah. He does know that. He knows that from too many different situations, too many different times. This isn't the same. "Is it really a bad thing when, in this case, bad's just a difference in perspective?" Ichigo's right. He's full of shit. Even he thinks it's bad. He hates it, but he loves it. The need is miserable, but the high always seems worth it.

He scoffs. "What's your point? I could buy this whole store." It makes no difference to him if they broke a few tables, scared the clerk away, tore up some clothes and fucked in what was left. "Screwin' around on a pile of clothes could be fun though." He nearly runs into Ichigo's back when Ichigo walks into the table like he's got the coordination of a toddler. "So who's reflexes did you think were blown again?" It's an off handed comment while his palm comes up to brush lightly against the small of Ichigo's back before he catches himself and puts a bit of space between them again. It's pretty funny that his play on how things would go was such a distraction. "Fuck. Do I look like a psychic? I have no idea. More, probably, but that doesn't mean he'd shoot it down." More like he'd shoot Shiro but whatever. He arches a brow, "Who isn't interested in Grimmjow?" He's hot, he's grumpy, he's tall; what's not to be interested in? "Not currently."

He follows to the back corner where the changing room is and watches Ichigo set his stack of clothing down. He shrugs. "I was distracted imaging you in the things you picked out." Which is at least partly true. But then Ichigo closes the door and scoffs loudly. "Rude. You're not even gonna invite me in for my opinion?" Maybe this is Ichigo's way of saying no changing room sex. Shiro crosses his arms and leans against a wall while he waits.

[zoja-deactivated20210116]

i hate you (flirtatious)

[white--moon]

His brows go up slightly in a dry, unimpressed expression. What a helpful answer. But Ichigo does go on to explain better. He doesn't quite know what to think or how to respond. "You think too highly of me. What would I even do to the city?" He hadn't realized he wasn't ambitious, but he supposes he's not. He never really thought much about it, but just assumed it was normal. "I assumed you liked me because I was formidable." He can't picture Ichigo even noticing someone who isn't formidable in some way. He scoffs, "No."

That's fair. "Yeah, I get it." He's a little short while he says it because he doesn't want to get into it. He's had an emotional rollercoaster already today and he's pretty sick of it. He doesn't want to sit here and hear about how Ichigo and Grimmjow think he's a horrible person. He really should just drop by, but he always kind of wonders if he's going to get shanked and if he'd try very hard to avoid it. It would all depend on Grimmjow's mood and his own mood. He shrugs. "Whatever. I can figure something out. You don't have to."

He pushes a few hangers aside to look at something in a color that caught his eye but doesn't pull it off the rack. Mostly he trails behind Ichigo, enjoying the chance to do something so mundane with him. He pulls out the most revealing thing he comes upon -more price tag and bow tie than cloth- and casually adds it to Ichigo's pile, mostly because he thinks it's funny but he definitely wouldn't mind seeing Ichigo wear next to nothing.

[black--sun]

Ichigo lets out a breath and pushes his hands into his pockets, not making eye contact. He might as well have started reciting poetry from the reaction he’s getting, but he doesn’t take it back. “I’m really not.” But Ichigo blinks. “If you were more ambitious?” He thinks about that, and then thinks about the kind of people he usually goes to put down and the people he can’t touch because it would create too much chaos. “Turn into a kingpin probably. I thought maybe you would, but you didn’t. You just sort of stay in your own lane. Maybe that’s why you’re seeing so much backstabbing. Maybe these guys think things could go further or be bigger. Maybe they’re frustrated that you don’t want more.” He shrugs. “From what I’ve seen other places, when one person controls everything, no one else can get a foothold to challenge them. When five guys have their own specialties, they’re going to fight over territory. That's what’s happening on the mainland. I end up over there a lot.” He doubts he needs to explain that to Shiro though. It’s more just a concept bridge to explain why he said what he said. Shiro could’ve done a lot of things he didn’t do. Ichigo snorts and glances over. “That was part of it. When you beat the hell out of me that first night I was furious, and scared.” He can say that now. He would’ve died before saying it back then. “If I could’ve, I would have tried again right away. But I know you now, so it wouldn’t really matter if you blew your reflexes out with all those drugs and couldn’t fight for shit. I’d still like you.” 

That tone sort of shuts down the conversation. He’s not sure if he’s relieved or not. Ichigo sighs. Shiro doesn’t tend to go seek out pain, and Grimmjow’s been a sore spot for a while. He doubts Shiro will actually try to fix things. Ichigo isn’t great at being subtle, so sticking his nose in is likely to get Shiro’s broken, but he’d already decided before he offered. “That’s the point, I don’t have to. But you two stubborn assholes are never going to get your shit together.” He tosses Shiro’s words back at him, because he’s expecting kickback. “And it’s not a problem, because you two are friends.” That sounds weird. It's true, but he’s slept with both of them pretty aggressively. He’s not sure either of them belong solely in the friend category. It sounds too neat, too clean, for what either of them were to him. But that’s exactly what he’s offered Shiro. He doesn’t have a clue how it’ll work in practice.

He doesn’t even know if he’s going to like half of what he picked up. Still, he leaves his selections on a table and crouches to pick up a thick sweatshirt from a low shelf. It doesn’t even look like much else he’s picked up. It’s just soft and comfortable, but he tosses it onto the pile on top of something he thinks Shiro added, but he didn’t get a good look. He supposes that’s what most of those outfits could be classified as anyway, comfortably slutty. This one is just more on the comfortable side. “They have a dressing room?” The place is so crowded with tables and racks, he can only make out parts of the store at a time. 

[white--moon]

He doesn't understand what Ichigo sees when he looks at him that makes him think so highly of Shiro. They clearly see something different. He sort of shrugs when Ichigo asks that clarifying question. He snorts when Ichigo says he could have been a kingpin. "That's 'cause my lane is very lucrative." His brows furrow slightly at the mention of his backstabbing crew. They're probably right; Shiro probably could take this further, make it bigger. But, "They clearly don't know where this all started. I've turned this into a pretty big operation in just a few years." Sure, the foundation was already there for him when he ended up stepping into Yhwach's place, but instead of running it into the ground or getting killed like all of Yhwach's business partners thought would happen, he's build on that foundation and outpaced said partners. And maybe offed a couple of the ones he didn't like. He wonders if Ichigo knows that. He wonders if Ichigo realizes Shiro never left behind his secondary function of body-maker and body-hider. So he's not a kingpin on the mainland, but so far those mainland kingpins haven't tried to step into his territory and there might be a reason for that. Or maybe he's just gotten lucky so far.

He has no trouble remembering the night Ichigo's talking about, nor the exact look on Ichigo's face after their scuffle, trying to mask his fear with hate and anger. He smirks. "It was a good look on you." He'd seen plenty of scared, angry people, but there was always something different about Ichigo. Ichigo saying he'd still like him even if he was washed up and no longer able to hold his own is weirdly touching. It feels a little like acceptance, like Ichigo can still like him and find him attractive despite the drugs. And he knows Ichigo's disappointed he's using again. That disappointment is a big source of shame for Shiro. But he snorts. "I can still fight just fine. I might go a little overboard sometimes, but I'm a lot more in control of my habits than I was the first time around."

The idea of having Ichigo mention something to Grimmjow only sounds like a good idea in the very first half second it enters his brain. After even a tiny bit of thought, it sounds like a disaster. "Maybe not, but I doubt you're gonna do any better on my behalf. He's probably gonna come for my head. What're you gonna do about that?"

The sweatshirt Ichigo grabs looks cozy and his very first thought is that he might borrow it, before he shoves the idea of being able to swap clothing with Ichigo at will out of his head. They're not partners anymore. He doesn't just have free access to whatever he wants. He nods, "Of course. It's in the back corner. You gotta get a key from the kid at the counter."

[black--sun]

Considering how many of Shiro’s people might be in on this plot to kill him, that’s probably a fair assessment. “Would they care even if they knew? People are selfish assholes.” Mostly.

He presses his lips but then snorts. “I was fighting for my life and you were thinking about getting your dick wet.” Or he thought he was fighting for his life. Or for not getting caught at least. But he sobers slightly, looking over, brow furrowing slightly as he tries to determine if Shiro means it or if he’s just trying to keep Ichigo from lecturing him any further. “I hope you are. I don’t want to see you that messed up.” It’s not even that he minds the drugs. He’s taken his fair share. He just doesn’t want Shiro being stupid about it and fucking himself up or becoming someone else.

His brows go up. “Watch probably. Why would I do anything about it? You just said you can fight just fine.” Of course he’ll do something. But he’d rather watch. The idea of it sidetracks his brain for a moment, but he shakes himself. “If I survived, I’m sure you will. What would you do if you were me?” He’s betting Shiro would watch, too.

He looks toward the back until he sees what might lead to a place to change. Ichigo scoops up the stack of clothes and starts toward the bored kid at the counter. He doesn’t even get anything out before the kid reaches over to pick up a key attached to a flat piece of plastic and slides it across the counter. All without ever looking up from a phone.

Ichigo raises a brow, but shrugs and starts toward the back. It’s starting to make sense why there aren’t more people here, but it doesn’t bother him. He doesn’t particularly like dodging people while he shops. He unlocks the door and sets the clothes down.

[white--moon]

An expression somewhere between tired and unimpressed flickers across his features and he shakes his head slightly. "Probably not." It's moments like this that he misses when his crew was smaller. Not everyone that came and went through the warehouse crew was loyal, but it sure seems like he was more respected back then.

That makes him laugh. Still smirking and a little sheepish, he says, "In your defense, I'm good at not lettin' that distract me." At least not in so far as getting his ass handed to him because of it. It was certainly a deciding factor on why Ichigo walked away from his attempted murder, that and because Shiro's opportunistic. Ichigo was strong and a good fighter and couldn't sell him out because Shiro knew his dirty secrets. It was really a win-win for Shiro. Ichigo's response to his comment about his drug use sends a flash of stung anger through him. Ichigo's not around to see anything. Hell, if Ichigo had been around, he might have had the support he needed to keep from using again to begin with. Part of him knows it's not fair to pin his relapse on Ichigo, but he's got it in his head that it wouldn't have happened if things had turned out different between them. "You don't have to look." It's muttered because any louder and he wouldn't be able to keep the hurt from his voice.

He turns a sour look in Ichigo's direction for that, but yeah ok, fine. Not only would it not be smart to get between them, but it probably would be good entertainment too. Still. "You're about to find out how well I can still fight." He arches a brow, "If I were you? I'd totally defend my friend and then make out with you. Then maybe invite Grimmjow for a threesome." Ok all of that might be true except the first part. He'd watch first too.

This store is distracting. He's not even trying to shop for himself but he finds himself idly pushing hangers aside and shuffling through stacked clothes. Every time he's ever been here he's found something he looks great in. He stops his casual perusal to follow Ichigo to the counter, not surprised when there's no real acknowledgement from the clerk. Shiro can't blame the kid, he'd hate a job like this too.

[disgustinggf]

sorry i threatened to eat you i was trying to flirt

[welcome-to-alice-in-helll]

[white--moon]

His brows go up slightly in a dry, unimpressed expression. What a helpful answer. But Ichigo does go on to explain better. He doesn't quite know what to think or how to respond. "You think too highly of me. What would I even do to the city?" He hadn't realized he wasn't ambitious, but he supposes he's not. He never really thought much about it, but just assumed it was normal. "I assumed you liked me because I was formidable." He can't picture Ichigo even noticing someone who isn't formidable in some way. He scoffs, "No."

That's fair. "Yeah, I get it." He's a little short while he says it because he doesn't want to get into it. He's had an emotional rollercoaster already today and he's pretty sick of it. He doesn't want to sit here and hear about how Ichigo and Grimmjow think he's a horrible person. He really should just drop by, but he always kind of wonders if he's going to get shanked and if he'd try very hard to avoid it. It would all depend on Grimmjow's mood and his own mood. He shrugs. "Whatever. I can figure something out. You don't have to."

He pushes a few hangers aside to look at something in a color that caught his eye but doesn't pull it off the rack. Mostly he trails behind Ichigo, enjoying the chance to do something so mundane with him. He pulls out the most revealing thing he comes upon -more price tag and bow tie than cloth- and casually adds it to Ichigo's pile, mostly because he thinks it's funny but he definitely wouldn't mind seeing Ichigo wear next to nothing.

[black--sun]

Ichigo lets out a breath and pushes his hands into his pockets, not making eye contact. He might as well have started reciting poetry from the reaction he’s getting, but he doesn’t take it back. “I’m really not.” But Ichigo blinks. “If you were more ambitious?” He thinks about that, and then thinks about the kind of people he usually goes to put down and the people he can’t touch because it would create too much chaos. “Turn into a kingpin probably. I thought maybe you would, but you didn’t. You just sort of stay in your own lane. Maybe that’s why you’re seeing so much backstabbing. Maybe these guys think things could go further or be bigger. Maybe they’re frustrated that you don’t want more.” He shrugs. “From what I’ve seen other places, when one person controls everything, no one else can get a foothold to challenge them. When five guys have their own specialties, they’re going to fight over territory. That's what’s happening on the mainland. I end up over there a lot.” He doubts he needs to explain that to Shiro though. It’s more just a concept bridge to explain why he said what he said. Shiro could’ve done a lot of things he didn’t do. Ichigo snorts and glances over. “That was part of it. When you beat the hell out of me that first night I was furious, and scared.” He can say that now. He would’ve died before saying it back then. “If I could’ve, I would have tried again right away. But I know you now, so it wouldn’t really matter if you blew your reflexes out with all those drugs and couldn’t fight for shit. I’d still like you.” 

That tone sort of shuts down the conversation. He’s not sure if he’s relieved or not. Ichigo sighs. Shiro doesn’t tend to go seek out pain, and Grimmjow’s been a sore spot for a while. He doubts Shiro will actually try to fix things. Ichigo isn’t great at being subtle, so sticking his nose in is likely to get Shiro’s broken, but he’d already decided before he offered. “That’s the point, I don’t have to. But you two stubborn assholes are never going to get your shit together.” He tosses Shiro’s words back at him, because he’s expecting kickback. “And it’s not a problem, because you two are friends.” That sounds weird. It's true, but he’s slept with both of them pretty aggressively. He’s not sure either of them belong solely in the friend category. It sounds too neat, too clean, for what either of them were to him. But that’s exactly what he’s offered Shiro. He doesn’t have a clue how it’ll work in practice.

He doesn’t even know if he’s going to like half of what he picked up. Still, he leaves his selections on a table and crouches to pick up a thick sweatshirt from a low shelf. It doesn’t even look like much else he’s picked up. It’s just soft and comfortable, but he tosses it onto the pile on top of something he thinks Shiro added, but he didn’t get a good look. He supposes that’s what most of those outfits could be classified as anyway, comfortably slutty. This one is just more on the comfortable side. “They have a dressing room?” The place is so crowded with tables and racks, he can only make out parts of the store at a time. 

[white--moon]

He doesn't understand what Ichigo sees when he looks at him that makes him think so highly of Shiro. They clearly see something different. He sort of shrugs when Ichigo asks that clarifying question. He snorts when Ichigo says he could have been a kingpin. "That's 'cause my lane is very lucrative." His brows furrow slightly at the mention of his backstabbing crew. They're probably right; Shiro probably could take this further, make it bigger. But, "They clearly don't know where this all started. I've turned this into a pretty big operation in just a few years." Sure, the foundation was already there for him when he ended up stepping into Yhwach's place, but instead of running it into the ground or getting killed like all of Yhwach's business partners thought would happen, he's build on that foundation and outpaced said partners. And maybe offed a couple of the ones he didn't like. He wonders if Ichigo knows that. He wonders if Ichigo realizes Shiro never left behind his secondary function of body-maker and body-hider. So he's not a kingpin on the mainland, but so far those mainland kingpins haven't tried to step into his territory and there might be a reason for that. Or maybe he's just gotten lucky so far.

He has no trouble remembering the night Ichigo's talking about, nor the exact look on Ichigo's face after their scuffle, trying to mask his fear with hate and anger. He smirks. "It was a good look on you." He'd seen plenty of scared, angry people, but there was always something different about Ichigo. Ichigo saying he'd still like him even if he was washed up and no longer able to hold his own is weirdly touching. It feels a little like acceptance, like Ichigo can still like him and find him attractive despite the drugs. And he knows Ichigo's disappointed he's using again. That disappointment is a big source of shame for Shiro. But he snorts. "I can still fight just fine. I might go a little overboard sometimes, but I'm a lot more in control of my habits than I was the first time around."

The idea of having Ichigo mention something to Grimmjow only sounds like a good idea in the very first half second it enters his brain. After even a tiny bit of thought, it sounds like a disaster. "Maybe not, but I doubt you're gonna do any better on my behalf. He's probably gonna come for my head. What're you gonna do about that?"

The sweatshirt Ichigo grabs looks cozy and his very first thought is that he might borrow it, before he shoves the idea of being able to swap clothing with Ichigo at will out of his head. They're not partners anymore. He doesn't just have free access to whatever he wants. He nods, "Of course. It's in the back corner. You gotta get a key from the kid at the counter."