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Renji wakes up in the middle of the night, sleep cached in his eyes, to the sensation of Ichigo squirming up against his body. He lets a grumble rise up low in his throat as he takes a second to assess the situation. Renji tightens his arm around the kid’s stomach and figures when he doesn’t stop that Ichigo’s still asleep, breath coming in pants, hips thrusting back into Renji --
Renji slides his hand below the band of Ichigo’s pajama pants to let his dick slip into Renji’s palm. The kid’s having a wet dream.
Peering over Ichigo’s shoulder at the little LED clock on the bedside table for the time. 5:37 AM. Renji groans. It’s too fucking early for this.
Renji laces his fingers into Ichigo’s hair, quickly tightens his grip, and pulls.
Ichigo jolts to life with a harsh gasp followed by a muttered, “Rukia?” that’s half a question and half just a moan.
Renji hooks his chin over Ichigo’s shoulder and scoffs, tightening his grip in the kid’s hair and forming a tight ring with his thumb and forefinger just under the head of his cock. “Nah, just me.”
A desperate, breathy noise creaks past Ichigo’s lips. “R-Renji?” he asks, twisting his neck to glance over his own shoulder. “Wha -- ?”
“I’m here this week, remember?”
Ichigo grunts something that might be recognition or maybe agreement, but definitely isn’t wholeheartedly happy. Renji pulls his head back farther and relishes in the gasp -- only slightly pained -- he gets in return. “What, not happy to see me, you little shit?”
Ichigo stutters something along the lines of, “N-No, it’s not -- !” but Renji is already set on sinking his teeth into the junction of Ichigo’s neck and his shoulder, and doesn’t find himself particularly caring when him doing so interrupts Ichigo’s sentence. Ichigo’s gasp is almost entirely pain this time, only the slightest edge of pleasure. But nevertheless the kid’s dick hardens in his grip, the elastic band of his pajamas digging into Renji’s wrist. “Renji!”
“That’s right,” Renji says, smiling against the back of Ichigo’s neck. He reevaluates: it’s never too early for a reminder that Ichigo Kurosaki fucking loves pain. Never too early for that. “Say my name,” he says again, low and commanding in Ichigo’s ear. At the same time he loosens the ring he’s made around Ichigo’s cock and runs his thumb over the head -- maybe just a little more roughly than he would with someone else.
The next noise to come out of Ichigo’s mouth is inarticulate, aggressive and possibly some kind of conflicted. Renji drags the nail of his thumb along the slit of Ichigo’s dick, smirking at the way Ichigo bucks in response -- Renji’s not sure if it’s away from him or towards, but he doesn’t particularly care because after that Ichigo seems to let go of that little part of him that doesn’t want to surrender, give up, admit how much he likes it. “Renji!”
It’s a lot easier now than it used to be. “Good,” Renji says, loosening his grip in Ichigo’s hair to stroke his fingers along his scalp. Ichigo still challenges both him and Rukia, but not as much as he used to -- which is good, because Renji doesn’t have the patience or the stamina necessary to play the long game Rukia does in the face of Ichigo’s obstinacy. Making him wait until he’s begging for whatever the fuck it is he wants, dragging him around in mental circles until he’s forced to accept what it is he wants. Renji would much rather knock the kid down a peg or two, tell him straight up how much he likes sucking dick or having his arms tied behind his back or Rukia pressing into his windpipe until it closes under the pressure.
(And, well -- Renji likes some of those things too, but at least he never tried to deny it.)
Renji forms a loose fist around Ichigo’s cock and starts to stroke, listening as Ichigo’s breath starts to even out, become a little more predictable. Renji waits until Ichigo starts to thrust up into his hand before he says, “Tell me what you were dreaming about.”
Ichigo whines. The kid would probably resent that definition, say it was just an aggravated noise or something, but Renji knows whining when he hears it. He sinks his teeth into Ichigo’s shoulder once again, using just shy of the pressure he would need to draw blood. “Spill it,” Renji says.
Ichigo pants, “Not your business.” Renji thinks it’s the first coherent sentence he’s spoken since Renji woke him up.
Renji rolls his eyes, takes his hand off Ichigo’s dick and plants it firmly on his thigh before drawing back a little to flick Ichigo on the back of the head. Ichigo jumps, twisting around to give Renji a look. “What the hell?!” he barks. “That hurt!”
“I just shoved my nail into your dick and you’re whining about me flicking you in the back of the head,” Renji says.
“Shut up,” Ichigo snaps.
Renji doesn’t pause for even a split second before he knots his fingers once again in Ichigo’s hair, tugging his neck back at what must be a horribly uncomfortable angle and draws a palm back to smack Ichigo hard across the thigh. “Don’t tell me to shut up,” Renji snaps right back, doing his best to summon a commanding tone. He slides a hand between Ichigo’s neck and the mattress, curls his fingers until he can feel Ichigo’s throat give under him grip. “I get to decide who shuts up and who doesn’t.”
Ichigo swallows. He doesn’t acknowledge the sentiment, but he doesn’t say anything to argue, either, which is good enough for Renji. As an afterthought, he raises a palm to smack Ichigo’s thigh again, and finds himself immensely pleased when Ichigo still remains totally silent. “Good,” Renji says. He makes a fist around Ichigo’s dick again and feels the air rush through the kid’s windpipe as he inhales sharply at the sensation.
Loosening his hold on Ichigo’s neck, Renji says once more, “Tell me what you were dreaming about.”
After a second, Ichigo says, “Rukia.”
Renji rolls his eyes. “No shit, Sherlock.” He emphasizes his last word with a sharp squeeze of Ichigo’s cock, not quite hard enough to be painful. “What about Rukia?”
A long moment of silence passes. Renji counts down from ten in his head. “That time she…” Ichigo says a couple more words, Renji is certain, but when he turns his head down into the pillow they’re all lost to him.
Renji sighs, sliding his hand up Ichigo’s neck to his chin, and pushes his head back until his hair starts to tickle Renji’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, what was that?”
From this angle, Renji can see Ichigo blush a bright red as he says, “The time she sat -- on my face. And you rode me.”
Renji smiles against Ichigo’s cheek. He swears he can feel the heat rising off Ichigo -- the kid had never managed to stifle his embarrassment at sex, and probably never will if the last few years have been any indication. Personally, Renji thinks it’s hilarious.
Humming, Renji digs his nails into the soft flesh of Ichigo’s thigh and drags them down. “Tell me more,” he says.
Ichigo makes an aggravated noise deep in his throat. Glancing down, Renji can tell that the kid’s erection hasn’t flagged in the slightest and probably won’t anytime in the near future. “Renji, come on -- “
For a third time, Renji bites Ichigo’s shoulder, unable to stifle his own smile. The kid’s going to have some nasty bruises in a couple of hours. Renji’s looking forward to it.
“Shit!” Ichigo swears. Renji will never need any proof of how much the kid likes pain other than the way his hips thrust forward involuntarily. “Renji,” he whines -- and it’s still whining, not moaning -- and Renji outright laughs at him.
“Tell me about it,” Renji says. His hand is still on Ichigo’s chin, forcing his head back into Renji’s shoulder.
“You’re a dick,” Ichigo says.
Renji pulls his hand up from Ichigo’s thigh and smacks him on the cheek, and Ichigo gives like a collapsed cardboard box under him -- Renji chuckles. There it is. “Shut up, kid.” He takes up the same position he had been in before, with his fingers wrapped around Ichigo’s windpipe and his dick fisted in Renji’s hand. “Now talk.”
Ichigo grunts. “I was -- when you woke me up -- “ Renji scoffs in his ear at the blame implicit there, but doesn’t interrupt. He worked too hard to get here. “ -- Rukia was -- fingers in my hair -- telling me I was good.”
Renji scoffs once again, digging his nails into the soft flesh of Ichigo’s throat. “Rukia’s a sap.”
Ichigo continues as if Renji hadn’t said anything. The only indication that Renji currently has his fingers jammed into Ichigo’s windpipe is the way Ichigo bites his lip and takes in a sharp breath before continuing, “And you were -- riding me.” Renji finds the way Ichigo’s blush contrasts with the little white semicircles forming on his neck rather distracting. He wonders how much harder he’d have to push to draw blood. “Scratching my stomach, and -- “ Ichigo’s all breathy and broken. If it was bright enough, Renji would make the kid sit up and look at himself in the mirror, face to face with how much he wants it.
Renji runs his tongue along Ichigo’s neck. The kid is still talking, Renji’s sure, but he filters out the words and focuses on dragging his nails down the pale flesh of Ichigo’s neck, along the thudding line of his pulse. As long as the kid’s talking, listening to himself and working himself into knots, it doesn’t matter if Renji listens. He pumps Ichigo's dick just a little faster and mutters in his ear, "How close are you?"
Ichigo's only response is a broken, high-pitched little noise, which Renji takes to mean that he's close.
"Renji -- !" Ichigo gasps, and Renji tightens his hold on Ichigo's throat until he can feel the windpipe collapse under his fingers. Ichigo's toes curl, nails scraping over Renji's shins and he can feel it when Ichigo tries to take in another breath and simply can’t.
A couple years ago he would've been ashamed by how that makes him smile.
Ichigo comes biting his own lip, his come splattering over Renji's hand. When the kid opens his mouth to take in a few deep breaths of air, Renji sees that there's a thin trail of blood streaming down his mouth.
"Fuck," Renji hisses. He claps Ichigo's shoulder and tugs until the kid rolls over to face him, lips all slack and eyelids fluttering tiredly. "Hey, don't fall asleep yet."
Ichigo grunts at him, letting himself fall face-first into Renji's shoulder.
"Hey!" Renji pokes him in the side of the head. "Even if you're not gonna stay awake you gotta at least not collapse on me, Ichi -- "
Ichigo raises a hand to flick Renji in the cheek. In return, Renji swats at his hand. "I'm awake, jackass." He pushes himself onto his elbows, an ugly expression on his face. Renji's erection is digging into the back of Ichigo’s hip. "Give me like five seconds, wouldya?"
Renji grunts, and after a moment pushes Ichigo's face back into the junction of his neck and shoulder. He runs a nervous hand through Ichigo's hair and down his neck, over his shoulder blades, feeling Ichigo's chest expand and contract against him. "Are you okay?"
Half-heartedly, Ichigo tries to push himself up to answer the question, but Renji fixes his hand to the back of Ichigo's head not letting him up. If pressed, Renji could probably come up with an excuse for it, but mostly he just doesn't want the kid to see how red his face is.
Ichigo makes an irritated noise, but doesn't push further. His shoulders go slack, curving into the mattress and kind of jabbing into Renji, but whatever. "'M fine," he says. Renji runs a hand down his back, along his spine, and feels Ichigo shiver against him. He turns his head farther into Renji's neck, until he can feel Ichigo's nose jabbing into the soft spot just underneath his jaw.
Renji breathes, his breath ruffling the disorderly strands of Ichigo's hair. A few long moments pass in silence before Ichigo suddenly pushes himself up and dives in to press their lips together.
Renji's not sure what, exactly, the noise that comes out of his own mouth is meant to mean, but Ichigo seems to come up with his own ideas. "Shut up," he mutters against Renji’s lips before leaning back in to continue, kissing Renji soft and gentle. Renji would like to think that kind of gentleness, that kind of caring coming from Ichigo of all people rubs him the wrong way -- but it honestly doesn’t. He doesn’t interrupt Ichigo with a scoff and a comment about how he hadn’t said anything, but just runs his knuckles down the curve of Ichigo’s spine and kisses him back, just a tad more roughly than Ichigo himself.
Ichigo pushes himself up to move down Renji’s body, first kissing his neck before moving down to his chest and his stomach. “You’re slow,” Renji says, twisting his fingers into Ichigo’s hair and gives a few gentle tugs, pulling Ichigo farther down his body.
“Impatient,” Ichigo mutters against Renji’s hipbone.
“Just shut up and hurry,” Renji says, pushing Ichigo’s head down until he’s hovering over Renji’s dick, and even then Renji’s half-convinced it would be a good idea to just grab Ichigo by the hair and force him down on Renji's cock -- god, and the kid would love it, too. It’s become blatantly obvious to Renji that Ichigo loves it when he wrests control and takes what he wants, rough as he pleases, when Renji pretends to not care whether the kid wants it -- which invariably turns the kid on even more. Renji has started to wonder, recently, whether it’s a symptom of Ichigo being ashamed of his own desires or if the lack of control is something he actually likes.
Either way, Renji doesn’t actually do that. Ichigo isn’t nearly as hard to figure out as he would like to be, and Renji knows if he shoves his dick down Ichigo’s throat he’ll just get the kid all riled up again. And that’s not what he wants -- because he would like to go back to sleep sometime in the next two years. Instead, he places his palm on the back of Ichigo’s head, the bristles at the junction of his head and his neck tickling Renji’s fingers and lets the kid go at his own pace.
Briefly, Renji considers scoffing and pointing out to Ichigo that yes, he is being patient, and Renji is perfectly capable of the quality -- but he feels like that might undermine his point, so he doesn’t.
Fortunately, Ichigo’s own pace isn’t particularly slow. He closes his lips around the head of Renji’s cock and sinks down halfway in the blink of an eye -- Ichigo had never learned to be particularly delicate on the battlefield or off -- but Renji couldn’t care less at that point, with Ichigo’s mouth all hot and wet around him. He flicks his tongue against the head and Renji can’t help but let out a little groan.
Ichigo raises his eyebrows in response, and that’s when Renji notices that the kid is staring up at him with this self-satisfied, challenging little glare and oh, Renji could not stop himself from rising to that challenge if he wanted to.
Keeping his hand fixed firmly on the back of Ichigo’s head, Renji bucks up into his mouth.
Ichigo gags, eyelashes fluttering. Renji pulls him up by the roots of his hair, letting him cough and shoot Renji a very fake baleful look, a little spark behind his eyes. The silence sits for a minute before Renji asks “You done?”
Ichigo doesn’t say anything, just averts his eyes. Renji strokes his hair.
The kid opens his mouth one more time, lips parted soft compliant, little red halfmoons and long off-pink stripes forming on his neck and god does Renji want to wreck him, crush all that stubbornness and fight and have Ichigo just give it up, give in, take it, because if Renji is certain Ichigo wants anything this far into their relationship he’s sure the kid wants that.
The little whine he hears when he thrusts up into the kid’s mouth is so quiet and high that for a second Renji’s not entirely sure whether it actually comes out of Ichigo -- but when he realizes it sends something zinging electric down his spine
He knots his hands in Ichigo’s hair, holds him still while he fucks the kid’s mouth. He knows that Ichigo doesn’t have a good handle on his gag reflex yet, and as a result he blinks and coughs and cries. It’s mean of him, although -- Renji holds him down and thrusts up just enough for the head of his cock to hit the back of Ichigo’s throat and groans -- just a little mean is probably acceptable. Encouraged, in fact, if the way Ichigo looks up at him is anything to go by: eyes all soft and unfocused, fat teartracts trailing down his cheeks.
“God, look at you,” Renji says, pulling Ichigo off by the roots of his hair. The kid pants heavy over the head of his cock. It doesn’t look like he has the presence of mind to wipe at the mess of spit and precome smeared around his lips. “You’re a fucking wreck.”
Renji doesn’t know how to describe the look Ichigo gives him -- it’s something in his eyes, something blank but not quite, something with a lot of give. Like staring at the vulnerable underbelly of Ichigo’s soul. But, slowly, the kid nods.
“This is what happens when you don’t try to fight it,” Renji says, running a thumb along Ichigo’s brow.
Ichigo swallows. He closes his mouth, licks his lips. “Yeah,” he says. Then, pointedly, he opens his mouth again.
Renji doesn’t hesitate to thrust up into Ichigo’s throat.
And the kid gives in, gives it up, lets Renji wreck him. It only takes him a few more thrusts to come against the flat of Ichigo’s tongue.
Renji feels himself groan -- long and low from deep down in his lungs -- and lets Ichigo off. The kid coughs rather weakly, then rests his head against the inside of Renji’s thigh, stiff strands of his hair tickling Renji’s skin. A few second pass, Renji’s chest heaving, and then he feels, against the muscles of his thigh, Ichigo’s throat contract in a swallow.
“Fuck,” Renji says, running a hand over the bridge of his nose. “Shit.”
Ichigo groans wordlessly, then buries his eyes in Renji’s thigh. His nose brushes against the edge of one strip of Renji’s tattoos.
He peers down at Ichigo. “Hey, kid.”
Ichigo doesn’t respond for a long moment -- long enough for a sick wave of worry to rise up in Renji’s gut. He nudges at Ichigo’s head with a single finger. “You okay?”
Renji could probably hear the breath Ichigo takes in as he pushes himself up from across the room. “Fine,” he says.
Renji rolls his eyes. “I’ve been doing this long enough to realize you’re not, idiot.”
Ichigo glances up at Renji, that same vulnerable look still smeared all over his face. It takes him a few seconds to realize that the look was meant to be intimidating.
He scoffs. “Come here,” he says, holding out his arms.
Ichigo crawls up into them without much complaint.
The night settles in around them. For the first time, Renji listens to the whirring of car engines on the street outside, the thud of footsteps from the apartment above them. He settles his chin against the crown of Ichigo’s head and feels the kid’s breathe against his neck.
Honestly, Renji wants to go back to sleep. But there’s something nagging him, picking at his gut, that tells him to stay awake and breathe in the scent of Ichigo’s shampoo while he runs his fingers along the kid’s shoulderblades. And Renji has lived long enough to know that trusting his gut is usually a good idea.
Into the silence, Ichigo says, “You know, you’re good at this.”
“Huh?” Renji responds.
Ichigo’s forehead thuds against Renji’s collarbone. “Oh my god, never mind.”
“What? What did you mean?”
Ichigo delivers a light kick to Renji’s shin. “Just shut up and go to back to sleep.”
Renji shoves him right back before he even thinks about it, with a hand on Ichigo’s shoulder. “What the hell was that for?!”
“For being an annoying dick!” Ichigo snaps, shoving at Renji’s chest.
“I’m the annoying one?!” Renji starts at a shout, only gaining volume as he goes. “You’re the one who keeps saying things that make no sense!”
“I was trying to give you a compliment!”
At that, Renji falls silent. “Whatever,” he says. He runs a hand through Ichigo’s hair. “Rukia will be back next week.”
A long moment passes in silence. Awkward silence. Ichigo’s gaze flicks from Renji’s forehead to his chin, and something heavy sticks in the bottom of Renji’s gut.
“Yeah,” Ichigo says.
It’s not an unfamiliar feeling. Renji’s had it plenty of times before: standing in the Kuchiki house, under Byakuya’s shadow, in a room full of people who think he’s nothing but a stray dog allowed to eat at the table with humans. Ichigo looks at him with his mouth in a straight line.
“You’re, uh -- “ All at once Renji watches Ichigo’s cheeks flush red, feels his fingers curl in the covers, his gaze waver before he stubbornly turns his gaze to meet Renji’s. “You’re fine until then.”
It’s cute.
Renji melts.
“Fine?” he asks -- incredulously, but with no undertone of legitimate hurt. “Who the fuck did you just wake up at five in the morning to give you a fucking stellar orgasm -- ?”
Ichigo grumbles to himself something like, “Stellar, what the fuck, is this the fifties?” but Renji pays him no heed.
“You’re lucky to have me. Rukia would’ve put you right -- “
“Shut up, moron.” He sends a loose, lazy fist Renji’s way. It’s not hard to catch.
He sits there, Ichigo’s knuckles pressed against the flat of his palm for a long moment before Renji moves to lace their fingers together. He feels his heart thump particularly hard in his chest, and tells himself that it’s just leftover bits of adrenaline in his stupid inefficient gigai.
A little bit deeper, he wonders why it is he always seems to fall in love so easily.
He pulls Ichigo’s face into the crook of his neck The kid lets him, even if he grumbles something under his breath as he does.
“It’s good to have you here too,” Renji says. He doesn’t have to be up until that afternoon, but he knows Ichigo has classes in the morning. The little LED light from across the room flashes 6:13 AM. “Now go back to sleep.”
Ichigo taps him in the shin with his toes. Renji sighs, and runs his fingers through the short little hairs at the back of Ichigo’s neck.
“Good night,” Ichigo says. He sounds muffled against the curve of Renji’s shoulder.
“Yeah,” Renji says. “Night.”