#Or if they eventually all agree to meet up and this other guy (Grimmjow!!) and Shiro catch sight of each other

[white--moon]

That doesn't make him less skeptical. "Wow. That bad, huh? Well, glad you gave me a chance anyway. I guess, if we ever meet, at least you don't have to worry about competition." Ichigo hasn't really talked about his ex much, but he hasn't painted the guy in the best light.

The difference between Ichigo and most of the other people Shiro's slept with is that Ichigo could actually give him a run for his money if things got too serious and out of hand. This is a type of control and Shiro's bad at handing that over. But he's trying. It just takes him a minute to wind down. His brows pull together a little when Ichigo scoots down, but before he has time to complain, there's a hand on his dick. He pulls in a soft breath, pushing up into the pressure of that squeezing hand.

He can't really reach Ichigo's hips anymore, but he lets his hands settle on his thighs, down by his knees, moaning at the way Ichigo works his cock like it's his job. It's good, it smooths over that edge of paranoia, though he definitely wants to bury his cock inside Ichigo, not in his hand.

“No,” Well… “Inadvertently maybe. It’s a no blood flow to your nuts thing.” He eyes Ichigo suspiciously for a second. “Just in case you’re wondering, orgasm denial isn’t really my thing.” He’s pretty sure that was already obvious, if it hasn’t been outright stated already. He snorts. “Who said anyone makes it look easy? You’ve never seen me put them on. The trapeze-ing into them isn’t the attractive part.”

He takes the offered glass automatically, but hesitates for a short moment before actually taking a drink. “Is this the start of you tryin’ to get me to forget I watched you put those on?” He asks it with a smirk, amused, and sets the glass aside.

He shrugs. “You just gotta get a bigger size, like an extra large instead'a large, so there’s more fabric where you need it, and take the waist in a little.”

He wants to get his mouth on every part of Ichigo that his fingers are touching. He scoffs lightly, distracted. “Never said you wouldn’t look good in my stuff.” He finds his clothes attractive, that’s why he chose what he did, and Ichigo’s hot all on his own. Of course he’ll look good in Shiro’s clothes. It’s the sharing part he has a hard time with, but they’re building up to it.

He huffs out a little laugh. “I’m sure.” Ichigo can definitely be painful, in many ways. He’s not upset that more people didn’t notice the attractive way. He spins to keep facing Ichigo when he circles around, blinks but otherwise mostly ignoring the lightheaded quality the alcohol provides during the motion. “Yeah.” He agrees, and thinks Ichigo’s about to remedy his jeans still being on when hands slide down his ass. He eeps out a small, surprised sound and looks up at Ichigo when he, instead, finds himself on his back on the bed. Fuck, that’s hot. And dizzying, but that’s probably the three glasses of wine and two shot gunned glasses of bourbon. “Ok, you’re right, these need to come off.” He starts pushing his pants down, lifting his hips off the bed.