Adult-FanFiction.org : Bleach

Happy Ending	By : Ardespuffy Category: Bleach > Yaoi - Male/Male > Hitsugaya/Ichigo Views: 2079 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Bleach, nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Happy Ending
- 2-Teaser
- 3-One
- 4-Two
- 5-Three
- 6-Four
- 7-Five
- 8-Six
- 9-Seven
- 10-Eight
- 11-Nine
- 12-First
- 13-Second
- 14-Third
- 15-Fourth
- 16-Fifth
- 17-Sixth
- 18-Seventh
- 19-Eighth
- 20-Ninth
- 21-Tenth
- 22-Eleventh
- 23-Twelfth
- 22
- 23
Dangerously unbeta-ed, but I couldn't keep this baby to myself any longer. Dedicated to all my lovely, lovely reviewers, in the name of god Smut. *o*

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They sit across from each other all through the afternoon, and it's pure hell. Their legs brush under the table at lunch, Ichigo's foot stroking his calf tenderly and suggestively at the same time, and Toshiro is ever so glad for his outcast reputation, which makes it so that nobody will question his otherwise surreptitious silence. Ichigo manages well enough, his fake countenance smile firmly in place, but Toshiro knows those amber eyes like no other place on earth, and he can't miss their occasional narrowing with passion whenever some less than proper thought crosses the ginger's brain. The footballer finds himself blushing from time to time. Damn troublesome lover empathy.
And it gets worse, too. In the evening Ichigo disappears, his only clue a rushed "need to go take care of a few things" as he storms by his puzzled boyfriend on his way out of the inn they're sleeping at with the rest of the gang. To his utmost horror, Toshiro is left all by himself to face the Teatime Amenities showman Abarai generously provides once they're all gathered in the lounge room. It's like a choral exhibit, the idiot pineapple and the whining girls and the cheap gay jokes embodied in Kira's person, all orchestrated by that neurotic chief of police – a cruel, futile pantomime Toshiro endures squirming in his seat as he mentally counts down the minutes to go before nightfall closes the curtains on this little outing and the morning sees them travelling back home.
Home. Where a brand new page of his life will be awaiting, as he and Ichigo turned the older, wrinkled, torn and yellowed one together.

The inn's garden is bathed in darkness. The air is dew, yet somehow light, easy to slash through as the little sportsman treads on the blanketed ground, the main path flanked with tall, bony conifers eerily dripping with melting snow. Silence, a deep, sidereal silence blows through the plants, stilling the night, painfully clear and translucent against the sharp starry screen that's the sky.
He doesn't acknowledge Ichigo's return until a strong grip on his arm steers him off road.
"Feeling nostalgic, Snow White?"
The joke warrants him a punch in the arm. "Shut up, dork. Where the hell have you been all day? You know how I feel about crowds."
Ichigo is all black, his coat and scarf and gloves and even the eyes, anything but the creamy white of his pronounced cheeks. "Yeah, sorry 'bout that. I'll make it up to you." His smile, too, a pearly wound breaching his skin. "Come with me."
"Where to?"
He doesn't reply, and Toshiro contents himself with strolling after him, noticing with vague disappointment they're on the way back to the inn.
"Are we…?"
This time, the med student turns to smile at him, before bringing a finger to his lips in secrecy.
The inn embraces them with sweet, sweet warmth as they enter. Ichigo heads decidedly for the reception, a move which has Toshiro frown slightly. Weird. The others are probably upstairs in their respective bedrooms, packing for the morning. Are they going to check out already?
"Room 12, please."
"Right away, sir."
The exchange is brief and efficient, not to mention bemusing. Ichigo is practically glowing as he grabs the proffered key and leads Toshiro up the staircase, programmatically ignoring each of his lover's "what's the meaning of this?"s. The redhead turns around a corner and all but waltz into a secluded corridor on the 2nd floor, a private hallway with only two doors opposite each other. They stop in front of the one with the 12 plate on and Ichigo pulls the key out.
What awaits inside goes beyond the definition of cozy.
Warm, rich red-purple wallpaper. Feathery maroon carpet. No candles, thank god, but a few dim lamps lit all over. No food cart, but two promising bags on a neatly laid table. And if that bed feels only half as fluffy as it looks, that's more than enough to give clouds a run for their money.
Toshiro heaves a tremulous breath. That's all concession he makes to his inner astonishment, however, and he takes a controlled, thin-eyed look around. His eyes fall once more on the inviting table, and a crooked smirk stretches his lips.
"Thai? Seriously?"
Ichigo leans against the door, shutting it with his weight. "Yeah, I know what you're thinking." Was his voice always this sexy? A shiver runs down the footballer's spine. "This is not some mock replica of our delayed birthdays." Kurosaki walks forward into the room, swaying his hips reflexively. God, the weak lilt to his gait. That's a fair part of the reason why Toshiro fell for him in the first place. The smaller man is shaken from his awed contemplation by two firm hands landing on his shoulders and sliding upward to cup the sides of his face. "This is me unable to spend another night away from you."
Toshiro tries, he really does, to keep a stern face; but his lover's chest is warm under the touch, and next thing he knows their lips are joint way too harshly, too obscenely hot for it to be fair, to be pretty, even legal perhaps. Ichigo breathes sharply through his nostrils as he peels the jacket off his boyfriend's shoulders, and Toshiro wastes no time in mimicking the motion, his palms outlining those gorgeously shaped biceps as they are set free from their confinement. One brave hand travels lower, down the valleys and planes of Ichigo's abs, and a surge of raw lust quakes through him at the telltale hitch in the ginger's breath.
His fingertips dancing on the other's beltline, Toshiro pulls back just enough to hiss in his lover's mouth: "We can eat later, right?"
"Whenever you want."
Nodding in agreement, the snowy head resumes their kissing, plunging his tongue into the redhead's mouth greedily and hooking one leg to the other's waist in a clumsy, all instinct no finesse attempt to merge together in a most intimate way. Ichigo has no objections, judging by how eagerly he grabs his lover's thigh and lays him down on the nearby bed.
And, oh man. It really is soft.
Toshiro mewls contentedly at the soothing feeling of white plush against his back. The sound is swallowed hole as Ichigo bends to steal him one more kiss, and another one after that, and another, and another still.
"You – "
"I missed this. God, I missed this so much." The silverette cradles the idiotic little orange head resting on his chest with both hands, their bodies pressed together from head to toe, Ichigo's discarded in a boneless heap against the lither frame of his lover.
You're stupid, Toshiro wants to say, but can't form the words – not with that full-grown man nestled in his narrow chest and dreamily petting the thick fabric of his sweater as though it had a worth of its own. The teal-eyed youth grinds out a nervous sigh. It sounds tense enough that Ichigo can mistake it for a sign of unease.
"Am I crushing you?"
You're smothering me, and that's all I've ever wanted. "Nh."
What, exactly, does Ichigo think he's doing? Gets a nice room, buys his favourite dinner, and then snuggles him like a teddy bear, rubbing his nose into his victim's stomach and moaning embarrassing, moronic things in his jumper. Which is feeling very much loved right now.
Toshiro snorts tightly. Oh, hell.
"Take off your clothes."
There's no doubting Ichigo heard him all right; still the ginger takes his sweet time, drops a few, lazy kisses across his lover's belly before rising to lock their lips in a quick peck and crawl back on all fours. The two men shed the heavy garments off with practiced ease, Toshiro just that wee bit more eager to achieve the task. From where he lies, Ichigo stripping is a total show, all the more so when the med student's slender hands reach down to unbuckle his belt. The mere sound of it, all metal and sexiness, has him fight a moan threatening to creep out. Ichigo doesn't seem to notice, and proceeds to pull down his zipper like he didn't have the most breathtakingly gorgeous pair of thighs the gods ever bestowed upon mankind. Toshiro scoffs again, just back-mindedly amused at how his every noise of enjoyment appears to be coming across as an indication of annoyance tonight. Worming out of his own denims and briefs, he keeps his gaze unfocused while waiting for the other to be done, in a desperate attempt to ignore those enrapt brown eyes fixed on his usually pale but now reddening oh-ever-so-slightly body. (Heater's on, and thus he seals the issue away.)
There's a bit of a silent teenage fighting when Ichigo moves to take off his partner's socks too, claiming with nothing but an assertive look there need be absolutely nothing in the way of their lovemaking, and Toshiro caves eventually, but for the sole reason that he knows he'll be longing for decent attrition later, when the sheets will be a wet mess all around them and Ichigo will be rocking his world down to its very core – oh man, they can't possibly get on with it too soon. The once-was whiz kid pulls the redhead closer for a kiss, and they finally merge again, Ichigo's delicious thigh sneaking between the athlete's to bring their crotches in full contact. The soft hairs down there brush together in re-acquaintance, and every single inch is there, ever so present, ever so real, and hot and smooth and oh my so hot, hard, tense, man and musky and ready and demanding and pleading and hot. Toshiro would spread his legs further, but he's impeded on one side by Ichigo's left thigh, and ends up only stretching his own left as wider as physically possible, in a display so brutally wanton it leaves the carrot-top shuddering.
"You cold?"
The silverette barely recognizes that voice as his own, gentle as it sounds. Ichigo props a kiss onto his mate's shoulder in response and shakes his head no, then begins stealthily sliding lower, his chin and lips and nose and brow tracing a stubborn pathway down the symmetric axis of Toshiro's upper body. His Adam's apple gets to the goal first, poked unashamedly by the purple head of the footballer's cock. Ichigo's mouth follows suit, opens to blow a kiss on the tender foreskin then moves even lower, bypassing the needy length to suckle softly at the juncture with the heavy sac below (Toshiro's shiver reaches the ginger as if brought by the tide).
For the love of…!
His dick twitches painfully as Hitsugaya throws his head back, jaw slackened in pleasure while a wet hotness envelops his balls one at a time, warm rivulets of saliva running down the crease of his ass, adding to the hallucinating arousal of it all. Ichigo's hand wraps around the base of his lover's erection, his thumb grazing lightly at the skin there as he dives forward, chin nudging Toshiro's perineum while his tongue expertly ravishes the swollen globes in his mouth.
"W-Wait, I-I… I…"
The med student lifts his head to bore lust-dazed eyes into their turquoise twins. "Turn over."
Fuck. Those eyes, and that voice, and it's him. It was always him, and now they did it, they're here, they – Toshiro complies precipitously.
Next thing he knows, his buttocks are being kneaded generously and spread, that lovely, lovely tongue feasting on his awaiting entrance. And, oh hell. Is it awaiting. The athlete keens against his will when Ichigo thrusts in, then out and in again, fucking him with that piercing muscle in a way that can't not bring back memories. Toshiro buries his head in the pillow and lifts his hips higher at the same time, inadvertently making room for Ichigo to…
Oh, sweet merciful goddess of –
"Ah!" The obscene sound is virtually ripped out of Toshiro's throat as his lover lies down on the bed and slides beneath him, lips hooking onto his cock. The silverette can't help the crazy bucking of his hips as Ichigo takes him in his mouth and easily wins his gag reflex to let him in to the hilt. How the fuck does he even do this? Toshiro growls in his pillow and sneaks an arm under his own body to grab a hold of fine orange hair, desperate for a means of communication since things are heating up way too fast, and he's not – he hasn't…
He is only aware of the shameless quivering of his hole when Ichigo mercifully pushes two fingers in there, all the while working in earnest around the engorged erection prodding the roof of his mouth. Those heaven-sent digits move about inside him as if to reassert their unquestioned dominion over a long abandoned territory, and Toshiro's very muscles, living a life of their own, stretch to accommodate around the blissful invasion, welcoming it greedily.
His cock enters Ichigo's throat at the very same time as a third finger is plunged brutally in.
"Ow, aww, shit!" The astounding pleasure and the breathtaking burn both seize his body at once, and Toshiro clasps a fistful of Ichigo's hair to halt his ministrations. "Stop, stop now."
The sweet suction around his hypersensitive length ceases abruptly, Ichigo craning his neck to look up at the footballer from their awkward positions. "Too much?" A small, lewd smile graces god-given lips.
"Too long." Toshiro grimaces in discomfort as Ichigo pulls his fingers out none too gently. "I'm… not exactly… loose down there anymore." Damn, but this is embarrassing. The ex prodigy (who's not feeling very prodigious right now) looks away in shame to save himself the pain of watching understanding dawn on his lover's face. "Haven't been active in a while."
Toshiro does not realize his eyes have closed until, lots of blind shifting around and sourceless rustling of fabric later, Ichigo comes up to his face and kiss his lowered eyelids.
"You mean, since we last…?"
Oh, come on. Let's just hang the sodding banners, shall we. "Don't make it sound like it's such a big deal. I just didn't get the chance, is all." Toshiro grunts crabbily, and shies away from the touch.
Which returns in a moment, even more persistent. Ichigo covers his whole face in butterfly kisses, then finally lands on puckered lips and thoroughly snogs the pout off them. By the time they separate, Toshiro is feeling too dizzy to remember what upset him in the first place, so it takes him a moment or two to fully understand the meaning of Ichigo's parting whisper.
"Thank you."
Tch. Trust the tactless redhead to ignore a man's poor attempt at saving his face. For the sole purpose of distracting him and no other, Toshiro takes his mate's face in his hands and joins their lips again. Good thing Ichigo catches the drift this time and participates enthusiastically, perhaps too much so – Toshiro is still so sensitive, dammit, and all this tongue-fucking and grinding and rocking together is getting him disturbingly hot all over again. Nnnh. He strains to keep quiet but, his composure threatening to crack rather spectacularly when Ichigo moans in his mouth, the footballer settles for nice old dirty play and creeps a hand down to grip the ginger's member.
And look at this. The reaction is instantaneous, Ichigo jerking ferociously as his weeping head bumps into the rough texture of Toshiro's palm. His tongue sets a punishing pace inside the snowy-haired man's mouth, and when Hitsugaya retaliates by squeezing the life out his dick, he lets out an animalistic whine that reverberates through his whole body and ends up in a pitiful twitch in Toshiro's hold.
Ichigo wrenches his lips away and stares down at his lover, face flushed. The silverette gulps quietly, silently amazed at the wild throbbing in his hand. He can actually feel how desperately fast the blood is pumping in those thickened veins, and that only couples with Ichigo's sex-addled blank stare to build his own arousal to dangerous levels.
That's it. "Lube." He breathes oh so wantonly, and the carrot-top moves to set off him in a trice, only to be retained by Toshiro grabbing his shoulder. "No."
The dumbfounded look on Kurosaki's face is short-lived. Soon his eyes widen with mild surprise and a far greater amount of desire, and he delivers his lover one final hurried kiss before sitting up, thighs on either side of the other's form. Toshiro helps him getting into position, though slightly overwhelmed by the sight and feel of that perfect body straddling his face. That's… He heaves a deep, strangled breath as Ichigo's manhood fills his vision, conquers his senses, becomes the centre of his entire world. This powerful drive, this insane urge, this fucking sick need he has of this man's cock is something that never stops to astound him. He's completely defenceless against the wave of lust that hits him then, and, eyes locked with Ichigo's, he obliges them both by taking the begging wood in his mouth.
"Nh… ah…" The needy groan could have come from either of them, Ichigo drowning in the heavenly heat enclosing his member, Toshiro delighted at the sight of his lover lurching forward to reach for the bedhead and support himself. He wastes no time in deep-throating the pulsing hard-on, hands firmly planted on the other's taut cheeks to spur him on. Legs trembling in excitement and distress, Ichigo starts a cautious pace, rolling his hips to ride Toshiro's face. His erection fits like a glove, and tastes like nothing he – tastes of pure life, seed, earth, power. Strength. The very strength Ichigo is fighting to suppress as he shifts his weight to avoid crushing the man beneath him, the same strength tensing his arm muscles as he clutches the bedpost for leverage, the strength in the hypnotic swinging of his hips and the sensual clenching of his buttocks as he increases his rhythm and, oh, oh sweet holiness…
Toshiro hums in lust around the throbbing rod sliding in and out of his throat, faster by the minute. Sensing his control wavering, he resorts once more to cheating; one of the hands holding Ichigo's backside ventures south, till his middle finger nudges the redhead's opening teasingly.
"Whoa, no… T'shiro…"
Kurosaki's complaint is drowned out by a far more genuine whimper of need as Toshiro tongues his shaft sloppily and the accursed digit inches backward to rub the sensitive patch of skin between sac and hole. His hips buck vigorously – so much his weeping cock slaps the silverette's face roughly – at the new feeling, his thighs clenching harder at either side of Toshiro's head.
"Don't! Wait, I… oh, nnnh."
He forces his prick back into his lover's hanging mouth and rocks his pelvis urgently, riding the other's face in a few energetic thrusts. By now Toshiro's hands have moved, one cupping his balls, the other tantalizing his twitching entrance, and the moment one finger slips in, strong and pressing despite the irrelevant width, Ichigo jerks back like a fury, his pleading manhood pulled out of Toshiro's mouth so abruptly it gets a teeth scratch.
"I said wait."
The tone is commanding, but hazel eyes blackened from raw desire sort of take the bite out of his voice. Toshiro watches mutely, intently, for a moment, trying to calm the frantic beating of his heart and the restless throbbing below his own waist, unsure what to make of Ichigo's rejection aside from a very rude, very unfair snatching his favourite toy off his hands. Or, well, mouth. Driven purely by the blind craving for his partner's body, he hisses like a snarling cat: "Let me finish you off."
The ten seconds Ichigo takes to form a reply stretch to cover a lifetime in Toshiro's altered perception. Relief flows on the spot when the answer finally comes. "… you too then."
They exchange brief, trembling smiles and kiss hotly before rearranging their positions on the bed. Toshiro is ever so happy to hide his flushed face from his lover's sight and resume his previous ministrations upside down, at the same time as Ichigo latches onto his cock and moans around it, the vibration sending a spike of lust up Toshiro's spine. It quickly becomes evident where this is going – if Toshiro had hoped to work in tandem, he'd been sorely mistaken. Ichigo swallows him whole, his fresh start greedy enthusiasm no match for the whiz kid's dazed perseverance. Before long, Toshiro is gaping around the other's swollen length and struggling to spread his thighs wider, unearthly, embarrassing sounds wrenched out of his throat as the ginger blows him in earnest, rolling his tongue around then slurping at the hilt and go down again, growling hungrily as the oozing cock disappears down his throat.
"A-Ah… ahn!" It's no use trying to fight the ecstasy rising with the tide. Within minutes Toshiro is giving up, head thrown back, only waiting for the strongest wave to rock his body and leave him a wreck.
There… almost…
"Whoa, oh, nnngh, aah!" His near shriek gives way to a hoarse yell and he explodes, his legs thrashing convulsively about as he spurts inside Ichigo's mouth, the most powerful orgasm in ages ripping through him like a hurricane. Ichigo takes it to the last drop, then some more, pursing his lips as if to milk the leaking head for all it's worth –
Oh, oh fuck.
Is he trying to make him come again? The fervent suction between his legs doesn't cease, only slows down to gently guide him through his climax. And it keeps up after that, lapping the scarlet length clean, getting in the way of its physiological softening.
His over sensitized member gives a pitiful jolt, and Toshiro reflexively hangs onto the unwavering erection dangling before his eyes. Ichigo's surprised mewl shakes through him like a vibe, and the silverette decides to distract himself from the acute sensations in his lap by sucking his partner off viciously, mindless of the occasional scraping of his canines on the warm flesh. Kurosaki whinges in appreciation and Toshiro doubles his efforts, suppressing the urge to gag onto the thick, pulsating intruder. An idea crosses his brain then, and the athlete smiles to himself as he moves his mouth.
"Ah, fuck!"
He can't see his face, but he can very well feel Ichigo's reaction as Toshiro dips his tongue into the crease of his ass, coating the puckered hole with spit. He mouths the quivering entrance, licks it generously, breaches it with his perched tongue (Ichigo pushes his hips back to meet the thrust, a wanton cry leaving his lips), then retreats it and begins suckling on it, rolling his moist lips on the outside, breathing hard through his mouth. The carrot-top's buttocks flex as the orgasmic tension starts to mount in his lower body, and the med student whimpers brokenly as Toshiro slides forth to nibble feathery-light at his swollen balls.
"Jesus… a-aah!"
Toshiro starts as his lover suddenly remembers himself and attacks his cock savagely, but it's too little too late, and Ichigo can't stay focused on his task for long. The smaller boy grabs the other's waist to keep him in place and goes back to eating the man alive, his tongue sliding in and out of the virgin hole with lusty frenzy. He alternates kisses and bites and thrusts, and suddenly Ichigo's sac is bumping against his chin brutally and the ginger is scrambling to get off him.
"Nnngah!"
Toshiro blinks stupidly to clear his hazy vision as he struggles to take in the scene before him. After rolling over abruptly, Ichigo lies on his back, breathing in harsh pants. One hand is pumping his cock furiously, viciously, harder and faster than Toshiro thought even possible, and as he brings himself off his watcher is hypnotized, aroused beyond reason by the violent treatment the ginger is reserving to that magnificent body of his.
A few seconds is all it takes for Ichigo to come with an almost pained cry, thick spurts of fluid hitting his abdomen and chest. Toshiro watches transfixed as his man slowly comes down from his high, every fibre of his being screaming for him to crawl closer and lick the pearly drops away.
Their eyes meet when the redhead turns, a sheepish smile flashing across his scarlet face.
"… Thai?"
The footballer glances at the bags on the table and grunts his approval.

They eat on the bed, a highly unhygienic practice Toshiro only allows as long as the sheets are spared and because, well, it's pretty damn comfy basking in the afterglow there. Once the leftovers have been disposed of, they shower – separately; which is awkward, but still less awkward than doing it together – brush their teeth and put on some clean underwear before going to bed. It's sometime around one A.M. and they're off to an early start in the morning. It would probably be wiser to… uh-oh.
Ichigo scoots closer and curls up at his side, smooth skin radiating impossible heat and fresh bubble bath. "Hey…"
"Mh?"
The ginger tucks his chin under the duvet, rests it on his lover's shoulder. "Have you ever… felt perfectly happy? Like all fits, no gaps or smudges."
A cool, squishy feeling swells inside Toshiro's chest, like a hitch in pressure that leaves him gasping for air and sighing in relief at the same time. "I think I know what you mean."
Ichigo's silent 'well, have you?' hangs in the air unanswered. Snorting under his breath, the athlete pinches his man's cheek, positive this will settle the argument.
Funnily enough, it does. Ichigo snuggles him (a very haughty, very manly kind of snuggle, if you ask him), seeks refuge in the hollow of his neck, plants a line of open-mouthed kisses there. "I can't believe you're really here. Thank you."
"What for?"
Beat. Then, the medic's voice, muffled by skin-to-skin contact. "For… not holding stuff over my head, I guess. For letting me do this even after all the shit I put you through. I don't deserve it." Toshiro shivers at the feel of a wet tongue tracing his collarbone. Ichigo all but moans as he oh so very discreetly shifts to lie halfway upon his lover's body. Perching his chin on the silverette's solar plexus, he shoots a glance upward, scrutinizing him through the longer orange bangs. "… you know contradicting me is fine on occasion, yeah?"
The ginger's petulant snort brings a smile on Toshiro's face. "It's not that you deserve it." His hand threads through Ichigo's hair like playing a lyre, and the man reacts every bit like an instrument, bowing to place a kiss on the musician's stomach. A shudder creeps underneath white, too white skin.
Yes, please.
"It's that there is no other place on earth I'd rather be right now."
Ichigo chokes on his intake, then chuckles, freely and beautifully. God, his every breath leaves a burning mark on Toshiro's skin. They move in sync, like joint at the core, and before long Toshiro is spreading his legs to welcome the taller man who's bathing him in kisses. Their limbs entwine in a fervent heap; Ichigo kisses him and presses into him at the same time, wrenching a guttural cry out of the footballer's throat the moment their erections clash.
"Nnh… a-ah!" Toshiro wails before he can catch himself the moment Ichigo wraps one hand around his cock and starts pumping him roughly, with intention. His body language tells the silverette everything he needs to know – that it's no longer time for foreplay, and Lord knows he agrees wholeheartedly.
Things somehow tumble out of control from there on. Ichigo leaves him just long enough to collect a couple of things from the nightstand, and the sudden rush of cold makes Toshiro whimper in near agony, as though putting the smallest distance between them felt like one of his limbs being severed, or something equally devastating. Then the redhead rejoins him, their linked silhouettes forming a lump under the white sheets, and everything falls back into place.
Right. So… right, Toshiro hums to himself as two dexterous fingers coated in lube slip into him and scissor him open. Ichigo pants softly above him, eyes tight shut in an expression of concentration so sensual it seems to reflect in the room around them, raising the temperature a hundred degrees. Toshiro couldn't stop bucking his hips into his lover's if he tried. Teal eyes roll in their orbits at the feel of Ichigo grinding his very much present erection down in response, and his breath hitching loudly causes the fingers stretching him to pick up their pace. They start fucking him almost brutally, and the tingling pain/pleasure sensation pushes Toshiro several steps closer to the edge at ludicrous speed.
"A-Ah! I-Ichi…" The slick noise of moist skin on skin drives him delirious with want. He's too dizzy to notice the difference when the two digits inside him become three, but he feels it to the very last inch when they are replaced by something severely bigger.
The redhead looks far from unaffected himself. The sounds that come out of his throat, oh god… Toshiro revels in the moment, his mouth opening in a silent "o" as Ichigo sheathes himself inside his boyfriend's smothering heat.
"Nnngh… aww, yeah."
They hiss in unison, Toshiro's voice embarrassingly higher-pitched. The carrot-top wastes no time in canting his hips back, but he's considerably gentler in the second lunge. It starts so slow it's unnerving, Toshiro's toes curling in the sheets as Ichigo swings lazily above him. His latex clad rock-hard erection slides in and out of him with a feverish squishy sound, and Toshiro's muscles clamp all around it in a desperate plea for more. "Ah… ahnn…"
Kurosaki grants him in a trice. He grabs a hold of Toshiro's butt cheeks to steady himself and snaps his pelvis forward, harshly.
The tip oh his cock bumps right into the footballer's prostate. Toshiro howls.
"God…" Ichigo lurches forth to moan in his partner's ear. His hips jolt as if they had a life of their own, and their rhythm is pure perfection for a long moment, till… "Sorry." He whispers wetly, and gingerly stalls his thrusts.
Huh? Toshiro's sex addled brain can barely process his mate's hesitation, and his lust driven body protests forcefully against the interruption. He tries to smile it off and coax the ginger back into motion with a few well-placed kisses, but Ichigo won't budge.
"I'm sorry." He repeats like a mantra, blows it in Hitsugaya's ear. His voice is too low to tell with certainty, but Toshiro seems to detect a shade of utter anguish in his tone. Startled into focus, the snowy head strains to meet his lover's gaze. Failing: Ichigo distracts him with a punctuated thrust at just the right moment – jesus god oh fuck hell need to, need to, to…– and buries his face into the wanton athlete's neck, well out of view. His words hit Toshiro's skin before they even reach his ears.
"Sorry I ever did this with someone else. It should've always been you. Just you."
Oh…That's… Toshiro sighs, torn between relief and an all special kind of rage, but Ichigo bites him gently while slamming his dick back in full force, and this really isn't good time for deep feelings talk, alright. He only does what he can now, that is cross his legs over Ichigo's rear to trap him there, where they're the closest humanly possible.
"I can't let you anywhere near where it matters. 'Cause that's where it hurts the most."
His own words echo in his mind; Toshiro snorts in quiet laughter and lets his eyes slide shut in peaceful bliss as Ichigo showers him with kisses and finally moves faster, taking them both to the innermost core of their lovemaking.
"Have you ever… felt perfectly happy?"
Toshiro whimpers ecstatically one last time and his buttocks clench mercilessly as he comes, Ichigo breathing hard on his lips as he follows suit with a hoarse "love you" crawling out of his throat. They stay intimately entwined till the orgasmic haze dissipates and leaves the stage to sleep, which claims Ichigo first, then courts Toshiro with nagging insistence.
His last thought before yielding paints an idiotic smile on his face, one that will most likely stay in place all through the night.
Definitely, this must as perfect as happiness comes.

In the morning, Ichigo lets him shower first and tells him to go on ahead. Though not overly fond of the plan, Toshiro resigns himself to meet up with the others without much desirable backup, and begrudgingly carries his luggage downstairs to join the rest of the gang in the hall.
He instantly knows that was a bad idea when a pregnant silence falls on the lounge room the moment he sets foot in it.
The look on Momo's face can only be defined as "guilty", and horrifyingly enough it mirrors that on Izuru's and Rukia's too. Even stone-hearted Captain Kuchiki turns to gaze with unreasonable interest out of the window, as though stating his foreignness to a crime scene (kind of ironic with his job, huh?).
Toshiro frowns. Sets his packed bags down. Opens his mouth.
And just like that, a mischievous smirk on his badass face, Renji pats him vigorously on the back and steals his thunder: "Congratulations…" The grin takes on an even lewder tinge as the pineapple points an accusing finger and stabs him in the chest. "… you slut!"
It doesn't take a genius to put two and two together. Toshiro emits a pained gasp, then prudently retires behind a curtain of decorous brooding.
Damn cheap inns and their thin, thin, walls.

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Happy Ending