（ her irreverence actually makes him laugh, the levity easing the strain of the situation. because it's easy, because it's something that's familiar — a friend threatening him with physical violence has never really failed to land with him. ）
Okay. Deal. Actually, you're probably better off kicking me in the — well.
（ an embarrassed little upwards jerk of his shoulders. she's a girl, she probably knows what he's implying. not that he really wants to take a kick to the balls, but he's been punched in the face a lot more than he's taken a blow to the junk, and he's pretty sure he'd just ignore the former if sufficiently motivated, so. you know. safety measures.
but he does obey her, taking first one halting step and then another until they're almost breathing the same air. ）
I — you should. Can you be on top? If we're gonna — if that's what you want to do.
（ look he cannot even bring himself to be direct about it. he's too ripped apart by lust and a pain so alike what he felt after the dangai, after aizen. his focus is slipping, and the only thing he knows is that he wants to touch her bare skin. unbidden and without permission, his good hand goes to her hip, fingers bunching in the fabric there. something in his mind that feels so much like shiro is a bleak whisper, telling him how easily he could just rip it apart, off of her, reveal the skin he almost feels like he wants to devour beneath the haze of wild desire. he has to make himself let go of it, and it's an effort.
he swallows, audibly and painfully, and then he steps around her. is it. should he — get undressed? he hooks his hand along the bottom of his shirt and peels it off in an easy gesture, and then he drops a hand against his belt. breathes out hard. ）
Are you — are you sure. Please. If you're not I need you to leave right now.
[ It's her turn to laugh at the suggestion, shaking her head and pushing it aside, still trying to shake the feeling that she's out of her depth just being alone with Ichigo.
The improvisation she's relied on to get her through this casino until now doesn't hit the same right now. The sense that she's flying by the seat of her pants hasn't gone anywhere, and Nami's sure it won't until she's home again, but this time it's rooted in something different. She's figuring it out as she goes not for her sake, but because she wants this to be something more than the source of apprehension that it is for him. Selfishness is easy for Nami, but this? Uncharted waters.
He gets closer, and though Nami isn't conscious of it, she holds her breath all the same, nodding gently at the request that she be on top, before the hand that he fists into the fabric of the dress she wore over here tightens, sending a spike of anticipation through her. ]
I don't want to go anywhere. [ She'll tell him again if he needs to hear it further down the line, but for now, Nami reaches for him, gently nudging his hand off his belt before she grasps hold of it, pulling him back to her while she rises onto the balls of her feet, drawing herself up enough to press her lips against his. ]
（ she touches his hand, and then the belt, and there is a sense of electric shock like a livewire across every nerve ending in his body. he grits his teeth against the sudden surge of pleasure, and where he'd been fighting down a hard-on earlier, now he's just so hard it hurts, pants uncomfortably tight. he's about to tense up again and spook away from her like a startled deer when she presses her mouth against his and all thought of flight evaporate out of his mind.
he hasn't kissed — anyone before. so his reaction is wildly clumsy, unpractised, driven by the vivid red diamond etched on his wrist. but his lips part under hers, and the drive of his tongue into her mouth is only matched in pure physicality by the fact that he's suddenly shifted his hands — both of them, even the left and its slow transmuted crawl to a vivid aquamarine — to her hips and picked her up.
there's no effort to it, no indication it's a strain to him, and the promise of putting her on top is immediately forgotten. indeed, it's all he can do to make sure they hit the bed as he steps forward, and his hands are frantic, unsteady as they shove the hem of her dress up. her skin is so cool by comparison to his, fever-bright and burning, and the skin he bares isn't — it's not enough, not enough.
he doesn't even realize he's ripped it, split the seam along the side halfway up along her ribs, until he smooths his hand against her midriff, pushing the fabric out of the way. ）
[ With all the dexterity of a pickpocket, his belt is unfastened and pulled free in the span of heartbeats, barely getting a chance to delve lower and run across the firm line of his cock through his pants before she's lifted off her feet. If there's anything clumsy about the way he's kissing her, Nami doesn't seem to notice or mind - too caught up in the heat of his body against hers and the thrill that parades through her, feeling his tongue lick into her mouth.
Her arms wrap around his shoulders, one hand, lightly calloused from a life at sea, flattening against his back, roving over his skin and greedily mapping his shape out, while the other sinks into his hair, humming low against his mouth as she tugs it gently.
Their collision with the bed and her dress giving out seem to happen in the same rush of motion, her thighs finding purchase on his hips, holding him against her while she arches herself up enough to press the heat radiating between her thighs against him. He's the one left reeling from the effects of his suit, but that need does nothing but urge her on, leaving her seeking more of him and the notion of trying to go slowly forgotten so thoroughly that she doesn't even care about him ruining her dress. ]
Pull it the rest of the way. [ She mumbles against his mouth, reaching back to unclip her bra and tug the sleeves of her dress down enough that he can just rid her of the garment with one more tug, grinding her hips against his and leaving herself shivering from the teasing contact. ]
（ that appears to shock him enough that he is staring down in dismay at the pieces of dress in one hand, blinking as if he has no memory of why it's abruptly torn. but he isn't given long to consider it — instead, he obeys her and gives the garment a yank, taking it the rest of the way off. it bares more skin, and between that and the quest of her hand across his back and the twining of her fingers in his hair, he lets out a sound that is rough and fractured, forehead pressed against the crux of her shoulder like breathing her in is the only thing keeping him steady. it hurts to be touched in his current state, but it's worse not to be. it's as if every point of contact between them is sizzling the way hot metal does when it touches water, and he knows almost instinctively it will lead to relief if he can just bear it out now.
her thighs are tight around his hips, and he's suddenly pissed off he's wearing pants, that there's anything between them at all. the mindless urge to rut against her rises, and his hips buck against her, responding to the heat of her body and the press of her thighs and the manic, frantic need that's seized him by the fucking throat. still, the fragmented thread of him that's still rational hesitates to get undressed, to make this something real and solid, to step forward into something he can't take back.
he should — say something, he thinks. apologize for the dress. ask permission to keep touching her like this. he'd said she should be on top, right? he should —
but she's mostly naked now, bra pushed up. he's — seen breasts before, thanks, has seen both yoruichi and rukia naked, has imagined inoue in moments where he's alone, but those tepid dips into fantasy never get much further than just laying on a bed together before his mind clenches on the thought and drives him to a cold shower or some other method of distraction. nami's skin is paler where the sun hasn't kissed it, and her breasts are a soft swell against a body that's been made lean and hard by sailing life, and he should — get the bra off the rest of the way first. shouldn't wreck more of her clothes.
so the strap gets tugged, clumsy, down the length of her arm and then off the other, and the bra flung elsewhere in the room. one hand is flat, braced on the bed, and the other — when he touches her breasts it's neither gentle nor particularly polished, the inexperience showing in the fact he doesn't really seem to know what to do with them now that he's here. what results is an inarticulate series of otherwise valiant attempts, fingers kneading at her in a way he doesn't realize is bruisingly hard. ）
Did you — （ talking is So Hard right now. he's breathless. ） condoms?
[ There was a moment during their first conversation where the fleeting thought that his disinterest in the game this casino wanted them to play was a good thing purely based on how deeply intense he was in those initial messages they exchanged. If she were more clear-headed now the memory of that assumption might be enough to laugh, but there's little to no room for anything beyond the heat that almost crackles its way through the dwindling space between them. She hadn't been wrong in her initial assessment of him, but the intensity rolling off him in waves isn't something she would be content to miss, not after being here, lips already swollen from the force of those clumsy but ravenous kisses, the shape and the heat of his body pressed against her so consuming it's enough to make her body buzz with giddiness.
Ichigo drives his hips against hers, leaving Nami gasping against his mouth, her thighs tensing against his sides, trying to pull him closer despite being painfully aware of the barrier their layers of clothing present. It's that awareness that keeps her moving with him as he fumbles through getting her bra straps down her arms before pulling it off, her hands pulling away from his body for barely a second before she's touching him again, one hand cradling the side of his neck before sweeping over his shoulder blades as the other moves to cover the one cupping her breast. ] Not so hard, not so hard... [ Her voice shakes, even when it's nothing more than a shiver of a whisper against his mouth, raking her nails down his back to pull his attention to her. ] I'm not going anywhere, neither are they. [ If he leaves marks, she might care tomorrow, but today Nami can't imagine giving a damn about anything beyond surrounding herself with him and trying to soften the edges of the urge that's taken such firm hold of him, still - ouch.
Drawing back far enough that her eyes can catch a fleeting glimpse of his face, her own flushed and lit up with a breathlessly lopsided grin, Nami tilts her chin, bumping the bridge of her nose against his before pressing her lips to his again as she shifts beneath him and moves like she means to sit up. ] Move this way– [ One of her thighs lifts and pushes against his side, making an effort to steer him off of her and into swapping positions. He's earnest and eager, and it's enough to make her thoughts swim together in a heady haze of want, but she's got enough sense to know he was onto something when he asked her to be on top.
Nami's thighs stay against his hips as she rolls them both to the side and settles on top of him, her mouth still on his as her hands run down his body, pulling his pants open before lifting herself enough to push them down. The sight of his cock so painfully hard is enough to leave her similarly aching, fighting the urge to touch him as she first pulls the condoms she'd brought with her from their hiding place between her hip and her panties, and then gets rid of her underwear altogether, fairly sure she should be the one to do it if she wants to keep at least some of her clothing intact (maybe she doesn't, considering how thunderstruck and thrilled she is already). Her eyes sweep up his body, settling on his face again as she moves over him, straddling his hips as one of her hands pulls open the wrapper on a condom before moving between them. ]
Ichigo– [ There's so much weight and want in the way she says his name it almost feels like it should be louder than the whisper it is, a reflection of the gentleness in her touch as she rolls the latex sheath down the length of his cock, and moves again, this time to bring their bodies closer, her hand gently stroking down to the base of his cock before guiding him towards the slick heat of her entrance. ] Still okay?
（ she gets his pants mostly out of the way and his cock, thickened out and heavy with the aphro, is already leaking precum at its tip as she takes care of the condom. even her touch, quick and utilitarian as it is, makes it jump in a flex of pelvic floor muscles and he —
has to lift one hand up to his mouth and bite against his wrist, hard, just to stay in the moment. the pain is grounding. it always is — he's lived alongside it for so long now that accepting its sharpening focus is second nature to him now. he's not so inexperienced with his own body that he doesn't know what the build of an orgasm feels like. nami above him, naked and beautiful with her hair backlit by the bathroom light making it look like a vivid halo, is all at once too much and not enough. he's left marks on her that he already knows from long experience will darken to bruises, currently standing out in a sharp red relief across her breast before she corrected him.
he starts to lift his hands, to touch her again. stops. instead, they get slid surreptitiously behind the small of his back, and he lets his fingers interlace there.
later, he'll feel bad about the dress, about the bruises. for the time being, all he can do is still his hands. ）
I'm okay.
（ his hips twitch upwards, the head of his cock rubbing more by accident than design against the slick wet heat of her, missing — he barely knows what he is missing, since he hasn't exactly done more than look at vague medical diagrams in class with his ears burning red while his teacher briefly touched on pregnancy, or listened to isshin for an uncomfortably long time. the actual — act, of having someone in front of him, a woman atop him, takes the clinical sterility of his knowledge and dumps it in the fucking trash.
nothing he's ever read or heard made him think it would feel like this. that he'd feel so gutted and out of control and driven and his shoulders flex against the hook of his hands like he's honest-to-god holding himself back. ）
[ Disappointment peppers the heat that feels like it seeped its way from his skin to her bones, keeping her heart thudding hard against her ribs. Knowing why he pulled his hands away and not wanting him to despite the marks he's left behind tugs at her in strange ways, not unlike certain mercifully issued lies she's yet to bring up. It's that same self-sacrificing restraint she sees now, battling the desire blazing in his eyes, mirroring her own as she stares down at him, her chest rising and falling with the force of her breathing.
Ichigo says please, and the sound runs up her spine like a caress, drawing her in, her hips rolling down as her body curves over his, heading ducking to stifle a moan against his neck as she sinks onto his cock. One hand plants itself on the mattress beneath him as her blood feels like it's rocketing through her veins, like whatever's come over him is starting to rub off on her. She keeps her hips slow, wanting all of him to the point where she's sure he can feel her pace thrumming through her body, her walls slick and tight around him, betraying how much Nami has ended up being the one burning for more of him.
Nami's breath is hot on his skin, her free hand almost stumbling up his body while her lips drag open-mouthed kisses up his neck, another blissful sound caught against his skin. A shudder leaves her hips stuttering when they finally press against his, relishing in how he feels as her hand grabs hold of his arm and wraps it around her body, too overcome to be concerned about restraint.
She's had bruises for worse reasons, but she's rarely wanted someone to touch her as much as she wants him to. ]
just that first thrust into her, the heat and the clench of her body around him, the way she takes him all the way down in one smooth roll of her hips, but especially when she wraps her fingers around his arm and forcibly drags it out from where he's anchored it behind him, all but manhandling him.
and he just — comes with a quiet, startled choke. his body clenches, and the hand she'd so artfully guided around her snaps her in against him with a sudden impossible strength, and then he's just. laying... there. quietly horrified. he is suddenly absolutely hyperaware of the press of her breasts against his chest.
the sudden post-nut clarity, aligned with the slight abatement of the suit's physical symptoms, makes him immediately and painfully aware that that was
that was
a thing.
it sure was a thing.
he didn't even last beyond that first frantic thrust.
can he die now. asking for a friend. ）
S-sorry, I —
（ oh god can someone just shoot him into the sun. does this place have a sun. can he go there. please. he is a brilliant beet red beneath her, and immediately starts trying to cover his face with his other hand as if that is somehow going to help.
[ In his defense, Nami isn't sure she's ever experienced someone using such a short span of time so damn effectively. There's a white-hot instant where she can feel him shuddering against and inside her, gathered up and pulled flush against his chest as his name slips past her lips, stunned and blissful. He goes still, and for a moment Nami stills with him, before what happened sinks in, making her squeeze her eyes closed while she tries to quell the rapid swirl of her racing thoughts. ]
Hey... [ Nami takes one more deep breath, trying to steady herself and ignore how glaringly aware she is of how he's still buried inside her. It had been a hell of a five seconds, but, this wasn't all about that, was it? He's her friend.
Her fingers are soft when they nudge his wrist, trying to push his hand away so she can look at his face and touch his cheek. ] Are you feeling better? [ It's a complicated feeling - having him pressed inside her but still being unsure if it's alright to kiss him, or if the situation has taken on too much gravity for him to want that now that his head has begun to clear. Nami holds back, deciding to touch his tattooed wrist, looking to see if it's lightened up at all, focusing on the practical aspects of the moment instead of anything else. Not that she's got much of a leg to stand on, trying to play it safe after everything that just happened.
（ the suit's colour has leeched out somewhat, but not entirely. it's still reddened, pressed in against the skin like the fresh bruises he's left on her. that blush, however, has not abated at all. in fact, if anything it's gotten worse with the gentleness of her tone and the touch of her hand against his wrist.
but he does look at her, once there's nowhere else he can look. it's either her face or her breasts and his eyes might as well be glued in a rigidly upward stare for all he's chanced looking downward. ）
I'm — （ the pain's eased back. the feverbright burn. he's still — he's still hungry for her, for the salt-slick heat of her skin and the warmth of her enveloping him, but it's easier, now, to bear. ） Sorry, I... it's better. （ a little. by degrees. ） Are you okay?
（ his cock is still inside her, softening by degrees, the wet stick of come trapped against him by the barrier of the condom. he can't decide if it feels good or gross. ）
[ Ichigo's tattoo was lighter the afternoon they met to explore the tunnels, a detail Nami doesn't miss, appraising him as quickly and meticulously as she might a stretch of gray sky and stormy seas if her life was still routine. For both of their sakes, she keeps her eyes on his wrist while he stammers through a response, deciding whether or not she thinks he's telling her the whole truth, when he turns her question around, tossing it back at her.
He's not the only one who's red in the face, something that becomes clear when she finally lifts her head and looks at him again, eyebrows raising incredulously. ]
I didn't punch you in the face, did I? [ As though that makes how she feels clear, even going so far as to roll a shoulder in a matter-of-fact shrug before shifting against him. Her hand settles against his chest, helping her stay balanced when she detangles herself from him, the color staining the apples of her cheeks darkening unmistakably when she lifts herself off of his cock and inadvertently makes her breath catch. Since arriving Nami's gotten acquainted enough with these post-fuck moments that this stupid self-awareness that's hanging on her feels completely out of order. It's stupid to suddenly feel like she doesn't know where to put her hands, or herself when she settles on his bed beside him, half-sitting up like she almost expects him to ask her when she's going to leave. ]
I, uh. [ Fuck. ] I know you said you didn't want this kind of thing, so... [ So? So what? So she'll go back to acting like she isn't thinking about this if that's what he wants? So she's comfortable slipping behind layers of defenses and going back on her guard, because right here and now in a sea of intricate, fucking weird feelings, hiding sounds almost as good as staying here for stupid reasons like being around him?
（ she gets off of him, and he's left... trying to figure out what to do with the condom. it's a bit tight around the base of his cock, and so he just starts trying to roll it off. thinking about bananas, because of course that's what his dad had him practice on.
(his family dynamic is weird, don't ask too many questions.)
now what does he do with it?? for lack of any other ideas he ties it in a knot and rolls over to the side of the bed so he can dump it in a trashcan. ）
It's. （ should he talk about inoue? probably not, given the context. for now, her name can live alongside his heart in quiet contemplation. ） It's more that I'm... I didn't want to do this with a stranger. I wanted it to be someone I cared about, my first time.
（ emotional intimacy is Hard, but he's... well, let's just say he's had a lot of practice. ）
[ This time, it's not a sense of grace that keeps her from looking his way as he contends with the business of getting rid of a used condom, but rather, the sight of her dress torn through on one side and cast to the floor holds her attention for a time. Everything happened so fast that the finer details barely had time to cement, but oh, how they sink in now, pairing with the heat still doing what it can to pull at her strings in a confounding way.
Again, Ichigo says something that pushes her to look at him, hesitation worrying at the corners of her eyes, lips parting as though she means to speak, and stops herself.
You don't know anything about me.
The words hang, hard and dismissive but unspoken, pressing like a weight on the back of her tongue. It's not a lie, but she doesn't want to point it out, leaning into the selfish desire not to do anything to tarnish the warmth she's left with after hearing that he's glad it was her, even if part of her thinks telling him so would be for his own good. ]
Don't start thinking you get out of buying me lunch now.
[ Nami reaches for his tattooed wrist again, pulling his hand into her lap as she looks between the faded club on her hand and the diamond on his wrist. ]
How bad is it now? [ She holds up her hand, showing him how light her tattoo is in comparison as if to explain the point of her question. ] I don't want to leave yet.
（ his tolerance for pain has always been fucking obscene. for a moment, he doesn't know how to answer the question. it's better than it was. by most people's metric that means it's probably fine, right? but it only took a few days for him to go from the shade it is now to the shade it was just before the act, and his left hand still has the glittering patina of aquamarine overlaid on the skin. it's more flexible than it was, but it's not —
he works his hand into a fist, and then: ）
I could probably go again. （ it's easier, with how calm she is. how certain, how gentle. he responds to it without realizing it, matching her for tone and temperament — this would be about a thousand times worse with someone more excitable. ）
But it's not like it was.
ugh i edited and still missed that weird space apols
[ Chuckling quietly at how cut-and-dry his answer is, Nami nods, guiding the hand in her lap to settle palm down on one of her thighs. ]
Good. [ Her fingers run up his arm, the smile on her face relaxing. She would sit there making stilted conversation for most of the night if she thought it would help - not wanting him in distress was what brought her up here in the first place - Nami might be green in terms of knowing how to form genuine friendships, but she gets the fundamental parts down right. Being there for someone is a big one.
Playfully, greedily, once she's close enough to kiss him again if she wants to, the more electric edges of the want he stoked to life prickle up her spine, curving her smile into something closer to a grin. ] I wasn't finished with you.
[ Nami tips her chin enough to brush her lips against Ichigo's before adding– ] But we're going to work on you not asking for it like you want seconds at dinner.
（ oh his hand is just on her thigh now. okay. that's what we're doing today.
he absolutely does not know what to do with that so he just leaves it where she put it. like a dead fish. sorry nami, he is absolutely the pillow princess in the room, a fact that only intensifies when she leans in and kisses him. he holds absolutely still for a moment, desire warring with the uncertainty of any inexperienced teenaged boy, and then he — kisses her back, hesitant and tentative now that it's not couched on the back of immediate urgency. there's an uncertain hesitancy to it, but nothing to indicate, certainly, that he can't be taught. when he breaks away from it that uncertainty remains, but he takes a deep breath and looks at her this time instead of letting his gaze skirt around her general form. ）
Is there a way I should ask?
（ at least he's good at asking for advice,,,,,, ）
the vulnerabilities flying around his room could choke a bear
[ He keeps so still for so long that it's difficult not to think she's doing something wrong, so much so that when Ichigo finally snaps out of his reluctant haze, it's Nami's turn to go still for a second while she's caught trying to figure out what she should be doing. Nami meets his eye when he pulls away, forehead creasing in consideration while a hundred or so half-formed questions bob and weave around in her brain. Is he okay? Is this okay? Is she okay?
Leaning back out of his space, because the notion that she must be crowding him is as persistent as anything, she sits up beside him on the edge of the bed, laughing quietly at the question. ]
Maybe if it sounds like you could also mean another bowl of fried rice or a sparring round... [ She trails off, pressing her lips closed as her eyes narrow. Deadpanning can get a girl pretty far in life, but it can't get a person everywhere. ] I told you I wasn't an expert - just - [ For as much as this level of openness makes her want to squirm, Nami gets the rest of her thought out without looking like she would like to walk into the sea - which is impressive, given how much she'd like to walk into the sea right now. ] Tell me that you want me.
（ like a typical teenaged boy, his focus has been primarily on his own feelings. his worry over hurting her, over needing this at all, the wild humiliation and embarrassment of — well, he doesn't need to mentally revisit that.
but that statement makes things shift and click into place. a different context, a different colour. he's been caught up in reluctance without realizing how that might look to her, how it might seem, and that sudden shift in his awareness makes him feel like a fucking moron all over again. if rukia were here, she'd have kicked him by now.
he shakes his head, swallows. having a moment's clarity makes things easier in a way, because at least he knows how to navigate having stepped on someone else's emotional insecurity by now. he reaches out, and covers her hand with his, thumbing at the mark of her suit. like his, it's lighter. ）
I do want you. You're amazing, and that felt amazing, and I'd... like to, I want to do it again.
（ a pause. and then with a drag of his hand across his face — ）
[ Reflexively (defensively), Nami bends her index finger after Ichigo's hand covers hers, concealing the worst of the thin scars and nicks that span the spots where too many shoddy pens and cruelly long hours at the drawing table have left their impressions over the years spent making Arlong his maps. Nami tries not to let herself linger on the regret that she can't hide every faint but still uneven bit of skin from the pad of his thumb as it grazes the small, faded club.
The past isn't worth focusing on right now, and neither is the caginess that arises hand in hand with the sense of appreciation that warms through her chest at his words. She needed to hear that from him, but she doesn't have to like that she needed to hear that. ]
A lot slower. [ Her free hand rests on the one he's settled on hers, smiling at him hesitantly but fondly. He may have meant it as an insult directed at himself, but when Nami agrees, it's too earnest not to be wholly sincere. Everything that happened might have gone down fast, but if anything, it was more of a condensed version of a great experience rather than anything worth poking fun at him about - which says a lot considering how fun it is to give him shit. ] And less apologizing. There's no reason. I'm not sorry I came up here.
[ Reassured but left with the increasingly familiar feeling that she's making this up as she goes, her eyes run over his form, lingering on the slight glow of aquamarine coming from the hand she isn't holding. ]
Is... [ Nami's been focused on putting out the more immediate fires in the vicinity - and tripping over herself in the process - it hasn't escaped her attention exactly, but the rest of him had a more pressing hold on her (hah). ] Is that part of the tattoo thing? Or is that you and your powers? [ She's guessing, but she's spent enough time around Ichigo to know what his abilities look like, and while this isn't the crimson light he flooded that sex doll-filled tunnel with, she wouldn't put it past him to be doing something to restrain himself if it's in the sphere of his abilities. ] Does it hurt? [ Kind of important to know given she's already shown her penchant for grabbing him and pulling him where she wants him to go. ]
（ he flinches a little at the question, half drawing his hand out of her gaze. the only reason he stops is because he doesn't want her to take it as an aversion to her asking at all. she deserves to know, and then she can make the choice for herself about the suit effects. ）
It's... you know the statues?
（ a moment's further hesitance, and then he lifts the hand up for her to take properly. the stone's retreated, but it's not quite entirely gone. ）
I think that's what happens if you — hold out too long.
[ The statues - it's all she needs to hear to make the connection, and when she looks from the hand back to Ichigo again there's an unmistakable flash of concern in her eyes. He's the one in immediate danger here, but that doesn't stop her thoughts from going to the crew as well - a problem for later, for now she's too preoccupied with frowning at Ichigo. ]
And you said you were okay? [ She makes a brief tsking sound under her breath, wanting to reach for him again but settling for the safety of continuing to let her hand cover his. ]
Idiot. Why didn't you say something before it got this bad? [ Stupid question - one she'd be able to answer quite readily if the tables were turned and it was her with something like this to hide (on top of all the usual stuff she's got to hide that is).
Nami shifts on the bed enough to bump her hip against his side, head tilting like she's got something to mull over. ]
I guess if you really haven't done anything like this, suggesting we start with something you know you like won't work, huh?
（ because he's a stoic bastard, nami, why else??? ）
I didn't know until I talked with a friend about it. It wasn't on purpose.
（ but he does look Thoroughly Chastised, and his gaze cuts away from her like a knife even as his cheeks redden, high points of colour that still as always clash horribly with his hair. the way she can flip to being so matter-of-fact about sex will probably never stop breaking his brain.
gaze askance, head tipped low, he manages to mutter: ）
I liked you on top. You, uh.
（ how does he use words actually??? ）
The, uh. （ no, they're still not coming back to him. so ichigo, in full and abject mortification, just sort of puts his free hand against his chest, hand cupped like he's trying to mime a breast, because. let's face it. he's a boob guy. a boob guy who can't say 'wow i liked the way your tiddies bounced for that 5 seconds i was inside you'. ）
[ To her credit, she doesn't point out that he's an idiot again, as much as she'd like to, and the circumstances certainly seem to fit. Instead, she laughs quietly at his pantomime. ]
You like my breasts? [ If he can't say it, she will, whether it helps or just flusters him further remains to be seen. She wouldn't be shocked. ]
You know you can touch me, right? [ A pause, before she revises that statement. ] You know I want you to touch me, right?
（ nami why are you making him say it what is this torture. he drags a hand over his face, deliberately hiding from the unbearable, unknowable shame of being Seen. ）
Yeah, I like — them. （ ichigo, just use the word. his mouth works briefly on empty air, and then: ） Your breasts.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Okay. Deal. Actually, you're probably better off kicking me in the — well.
（ an embarrassed little upwards jerk of his shoulders. she's a girl, she probably knows what he's implying. not that he really wants to take a kick to the balls, but he's been punched in the face a lot more than he's taken a blow to the junk, and he's pretty sure he'd just ignore the former if sufficiently motivated, so. you know. safety measures.
but he does obey her, taking first one halting step and then another until they're almost breathing the same air. ）
I — you should. Can you be on top? If we're gonna — if that's what you want to do.
（ look he cannot even bring himself to be direct about it. he's too ripped apart by lust and a pain so alike what he felt after the dangai, after aizen. his focus is slipping, and the only thing he knows is that he wants to touch her bare skin. unbidden and without permission, his good hand goes to her hip, fingers bunching in the fabric there. something in his mind that feels so much like shiro is a bleak whisper, telling him how easily he could just rip it apart, off of her, reveal the skin he almost feels like he wants to devour beneath the haze of wild desire. he has to make himself let go of it, and it's an effort.
he swallows, audibly and painfully, and then he steps around her. is it. should he — get undressed? he hooks his hand along the bottom of his shirt and peels it off in an easy gesture, and then he drops a hand against his belt. breathes out hard. ）
Are you — are you sure. Please. If you're not I need you to leave right now.
no subject
The improvisation she's relied on to get her through this casino until now doesn't hit the same right now. The sense that she's flying by the seat of her pants hasn't gone anywhere, and Nami's sure it won't until she's home again, but this time it's rooted in something different. She's figuring it out as she goes not for her sake, but because she wants this to be something more than the source of apprehension that it is for him. Selfishness is easy for Nami, but this? Uncharted waters.
He gets closer, and though Nami isn't conscious of it, she holds her breath all the same, nodding gently at the request that she be on top, before the hand that he fists into the fabric of the dress she wore over here tightens, sending a spike of anticipation through her. ]
I don't want to go anywhere. [ She'll tell him again if he needs to hear it further down the line, but for now, Nami reaches for him, gently nudging his hand off his belt before she grasps hold of it, pulling him back to her while she rises onto the balls of her feet, drawing herself up enough to press her lips against his. ]
no subject
he hasn't kissed — anyone before. so his reaction is wildly clumsy, unpractised, driven by the vivid red diamond etched on his wrist. but his lips part under hers, and the drive of his tongue into her mouth is only matched in pure physicality by the fact that he's suddenly shifted his hands — both of them, even the left and its slow transmuted crawl to a vivid aquamarine — to her hips and picked her up.
there's no effort to it, no indication it's a strain to him, and the promise of putting her on top is immediately forgotten. indeed, it's all he can do to make sure they hit the bed as he steps forward, and his hands are frantic, unsteady as they shove the hem of her dress up. her skin is so cool by comparison to his, fever-bright and burning, and the skin he bares isn't — it's not enough, not enough.
he doesn't even realize he's ripped it, split the seam along the side halfway up along her ribs, until he smooths his hand against her midriff, pushing the fabric out of the way. ）
no subject
Her arms wrap around his shoulders, one hand, lightly calloused from a life at sea, flattening against his back, roving over his skin and greedily mapping his shape out, while the other sinks into his hair, humming low against his mouth as she tugs it gently.
Their collision with the bed and her dress giving out seem to happen in the same rush of motion, her thighs finding purchase on his hips, holding him against her while she arches herself up enough to press the heat radiating between her thighs against him. He's the one left reeling from the effects of his suit, but that need does nothing but urge her on, leaving her seeking more of him and the notion of trying to go slowly forgotten so thoroughly that she doesn't even care about him ruining her dress. ]
Pull it the rest of the way. [ She mumbles against his mouth, reaching back to unclip her bra and tug the sleeves of her dress down enough that he can just rid her of the garment with one more tug, grinding her hips against his and leaving herself shivering from the teasing contact. ]
i have like 300 icons and none for porn bye
her thighs are tight around his hips, and he's suddenly pissed off he's wearing pants, that there's anything between them at all. the mindless urge to rut against her rises, and his hips buck against her, responding to the heat of her body and the press of her thighs and the manic, frantic need that's seized him by the fucking throat. still, the fragmented thread of him that's still rational hesitates to get undressed, to make this something real and solid, to step forward into something he can't take back.
he should — say something, he thinks. apologize for the dress. ask permission to keep touching her like this. he'd said she should be on top, right? he should —
but she's mostly naked now, bra pushed up. he's — seen breasts before, thanks, has seen both yoruichi and rukia naked, has imagined inoue in moments where he's alone, but those tepid dips into fantasy never get much further than just laying on a bed together before his mind clenches on the thought and drives him to a cold shower or some other method of distraction. nami's skin is paler where the sun hasn't kissed it, and her breasts are a soft swell against a body that's been made lean and hard by sailing life, and he should — get the bra off the rest of the way first. shouldn't wreck more of her clothes.
so the strap gets tugged, clumsy, down the length of her arm and then off the other, and the bra flung elsewhere in the room. one hand is flat, braced on the bed, and the other — when he touches her breasts it's neither gentle nor particularly polished, the inexperience showing in the fact he doesn't really seem to know what to do with them now that he's here. what results is an inarticulate series of otherwise valiant attempts, fingers kneading at her in a way he doesn't realize is bruisingly hard. ）
Did you — （ talking is So Hard right now. he's breathless. ） condoms?
the most niche sad country song ever
Ichigo drives his hips against hers, leaving Nami gasping against his mouth, her thighs tensing against his sides, trying to pull him closer despite being painfully aware of the barrier their layers of clothing present. It's that awareness that keeps her moving with him as he fumbles through getting her bra straps down her arms before pulling it off, her hands pulling away from his body for barely a second before she's touching him again, one hand cradling the side of his neck before sweeping over his shoulder blades as the other moves to cover the one cupping her breast. ] Not so hard, not so hard... [ Her voice shakes, even when it's nothing more than a shiver of a whisper against his mouth, raking her nails down his back to pull his attention to her. ] I'm not going anywhere, neither are they. [ If he leaves marks, she might care tomorrow, but today Nami can't imagine giving a damn about anything beyond surrounding herself with him and trying to soften the edges of the urge that's taken such firm hold of him, still - ouch.
Drawing back far enough that her eyes can catch a fleeting glimpse of his face, her own flushed and lit up with a breathlessly lopsided grin, Nami tilts her chin, bumping the bridge of her nose against his before pressing her lips to his again as she shifts beneath him and moves like she means to sit up. ] Move this way– [ One of her thighs lifts and pushes against his side, making an effort to steer him off of her and into swapping positions. He's earnest and eager, and it's enough to make her thoughts swim together in a heady haze of want, but she's got enough sense to know he was onto something when he asked her to be on top.
Nami's thighs stay against his hips as she rolls them both to the side and settles on top of him, her mouth still on his as her hands run down his body, pulling his pants open before lifting herself enough to push them down. The sight of his cock so painfully hard is enough to leave her similarly aching, fighting the urge to touch him as she first pulls the condoms she'd brought with her from their hiding place between her hip and her panties, and then gets rid of her underwear altogether, fairly sure she should be the one to do it if she wants to keep at least some of her clothing intact (maybe she doesn't, considering how thunderstruck and thrilled she is already). Her eyes sweep up his body, settling on his face again as she moves over him, straddling his hips as one of her hands pulls open the wrapper on a condom before moving between them. ]
Ichigo– [ There's so much weight and want in the way she says his name it almost feels like it should be louder than the whisper it is, a reflection of the gentleness in her touch as she rolls the latex sheath down the length of his cock, and moves again, this time to bring their bodies closer, her hand gently stroking down to the base of his cock before guiding him towards the slick heat of her entrance. ] Still okay?
no subject
has to lift one hand up to his mouth and bite against his wrist, hard, just to stay in the moment. the pain is grounding. it always is — he's lived alongside it for so long now that accepting its sharpening focus is second nature to him now. he's not so inexperienced with his own body that he doesn't know what the build of an orgasm feels like. nami above him, naked and beautiful with her hair backlit by the bathroom light making it look like a vivid halo, is all at once too much and not enough. he's left marks on her that he already knows from long experience will darken to bruises, currently standing out in a sharp red relief across her breast before she corrected him.
he starts to lift his hands, to touch her again. stops. instead, they get slid surreptitiously behind the small of his back, and he lets his fingers interlace there.
later, he'll feel bad about the dress, about the bruises. for the time being, all he can do is still his hands. ）
I'm okay.
（ his hips twitch upwards, the head of his cock rubbing more by accident than design against the slick wet heat of her, missing — he barely knows what he is missing, since he hasn't exactly done more than look at vague medical diagrams in class with his ears burning red while his teacher briefly touched on pregnancy, or listened to isshin for an uncomfortably long time. the actual — act, of having someone in front of him, a woman atop him, takes the clinical sterility of his knowledge and dumps it in the fucking trash.
nothing he's ever read or heard made him think it would feel like this. that he'd feel so gutted and out of control and driven and his shoulders flex against the hook of his hands like he's honest-to-god holding himself back. ）
Please —
no subject
Ichigo says please, and the sound runs up her spine like a caress, drawing her in, her hips rolling down as her body curves over his, heading ducking to stifle a moan against his neck as she sinks onto his cock. One hand plants itself on the mattress beneath him as her blood feels like it's rocketing through her veins, like whatever's come over him is starting to rub off on her. She keeps her hips slow, wanting all of him to the point where she's sure he can feel her pace thrumming through her body, her walls slick and tight around him, betraying how much Nami has ended up being the one burning for more of him.
Nami's breath is hot on his skin, her free hand almost stumbling up his body while her lips drag open-mouthed kisses up his neck, another blissful sound caught against his skin. A shudder leaves her hips stuttering when they finally press against his, relishing in how he feels as her hand grabs hold of his arm and wraps it around her body, too overcome to be concerned about restraint.
She's had bruises for worse reasons, but she's rarely wanted someone to touch her as much as she wants him to. ]
no subject
just that first thrust into her, the heat and the clench of her body around him, the way she takes him all the way down in one smooth roll of her hips, but especially when she wraps her fingers around his arm and forcibly drags it out from where he's anchored it behind him, all but manhandling him.
and he just — comes with a quiet, startled choke. his body clenches, and the hand she'd so artfully guided around her snaps her in against him with a sudden impossible strength, and then he's just. laying... there. quietly horrified. he is suddenly absolutely hyperaware of the press of her breasts against his chest.
the sudden post-nut clarity, aligned with the slight abatement of the suit's physical symptoms, makes him immediately and painfully aware that that was
that was
a thing.
it sure was a thing.
he didn't even last beyond that first frantic thrust.
can he die now. asking for a friend. ）
S-sorry, I —
（ oh god can someone just shoot him into the sun. does this place have a sun. can he go there. please. he is a brilliant beet red beneath her, and immediately starts trying to cover his face with his other hand as if that is somehow going to help.
(spoilers: it won't) ）
no subject
Hey... [ Nami takes one more deep breath, trying to steady herself and ignore how glaringly aware she is of how he's still buried inside her. It had been a hell of a five seconds, but, this wasn't all about that, was it? He's her friend.
Her fingers are soft when they nudge his wrist, trying to push his hand away so she can look at his face and touch his cheek. ] Are you feeling better? [ It's a complicated feeling - having him pressed inside her but still being unsure if it's alright to kiss him, or if the situation has taken on too much gravity for him to want that now that his head has begun to clear. Nami holds back, deciding to touch his tattooed wrist, looking to see if it's lightened up at all, focusing on the practical aspects of the moment instead of anything else. Not that she's got much of a leg to stand on, trying to play it safe after everything that just happened.
A hell of a five seconds. ]
no subject
but he does look at her, once there's nowhere else he can look. it's either her face or her breasts and his eyes might as well be glued in a rigidly upward stare for all he's chanced looking downward. ）
I'm — （ the pain's eased back. the feverbright burn. he's still — he's still hungry for her, for the salt-slick heat of her skin and the warmth of her enveloping him, but it's easier, now, to bear. ） Sorry, I... it's better. （ a little. by degrees. ） Are you okay?
（ his cock is still inside her, softening by degrees, the wet stick of come trapped against him by the barrier of the condom. he can't decide if it feels good or gross. ）
no subject
He's not the only one who's red in the face, something that becomes clear when she finally lifts her head and looks at him again, eyebrows raising incredulously. ]
I didn't punch you in the face, did I? [ As though that makes how she feels clear, even going so far as to roll a shoulder in a matter-of-fact shrug before shifting against him. Her hand settles against his chest, helping her stay balanced when she detangles herself from him, the color staining the apples of her cheeks darkening unmistakably when she lifts herself off of his cock and inadvertently makes her breath catch. Since arriving Nami's gotten acquainted enough with these post-fuck moments that this stupid self-awareness that's hanging on her feels completely out of order. It's stupid to suddenly feel like she doesn't know where to put her hands, or herself when she settles on his bed beside him, half-sitting up like she almost expects him to ask her when she's going to leave. ]
I, uh. [ Fuck. ] I know you said you didn't want this kind of thing, so... [ So? So what? So she'll go back to acting like she isn't thinking about this if that's what he wants? So she's comfortable slipping behind layers of defenses and going back on her guard, because right here and now in a sea of intricate, fucking weird feelings, hiding sounds almost as good as staying here for stupid reasons like being around him?
So... ] Don't say sorry. I'm not.
no subject
（ she gets off of him, and he's left... trying to figure out what to do with the condom. it's a bit tight around the base of his cock, and so he just starts trying to roll it off. thinking about bananas, because of course that's what his dad had him practice on.
(his family dynamic is weird, don't ask too many questions.)
now what does he do with it?? for lack of any other ideas he ties it in a knot and rolls over to the side of the bed so he can dump it in a trashcan. ）
It's. （ should he talk about inoue? probably not, given the context. for now, her name can live alongside his heart in quiet contemplation. ） It's more that I'm... I didn't want to do this with a stranger. I wanted it to be someone I cared about, my first time.
（ emotional intimacy is Hard, but he's... well, let's just say he's had a lot of practice. ）
I'm glad it was you.
no subject
Again, Ichigo says something that pushes her to look at him, hesitation worrying at the corners of her eyes, lips parting as though she means to speak, and stops herself.
You don't know anything about me.
The words hang, hard and dismissive but unspoken, pressing like a weight on the back of her tongue. It's not a lie, but she doesn't want to point it out, leaning into the selfish desire not to do anything to tarnish the warmth she's left with after hearing that he's glad it was her, even if part of her thinks telling him so would be for his own good. ]
Don't start thinking you get out of buying me lunch now.
[ Nami reaches for his tattooed wrist again, pulling his hand into her lap as she looks between the faded club on her hand and the diamond on his wrist. ]
How bad is it now? [ She holds up her hand, showing him
how light her tattoo is in comparison as if to explain the point of her question. ] I don't want to leave yet.
no subject
he works his hand into a fist, and then: ）
I could probably go again. （ it's easier, with how calm she is. how certain, how gentle. he responds to it without realizing it, matching her for tone and temperament — this would be about a thousand times worse with someone more excitable. ）
But it's not like it was.
ugh i edited and still missed that weird space apols
Good. [ Her fingers run up his arm, the smile on her face relaxing. She would sit there making stilted conversation for most of the night if she thought it would help - not wanting him in distress was what brought her up here in the first place - Nami might be green in terms of knowing how to form genuine friendships, but she gets the fundamental parts down right. Being there for someone is a big one.
Playfully, greedily, once she's close enough to kiss him again if she wants to, the more electric edges of the want he stoked to life prickle up her spine, curving her smile into something closer to a grin. ] I wasn't finished with you.
[ Nami tips her chin enough to brush her lips against Ichigo's before adding– ] But we're going to work on you not asking for it like you want seconds at dinner.
no worries!!
he absolutely does not know what to do with that so he just leaves it where she put it. like a dead fish. sorry nami, he is absolutely the pillow princess in the room, a fact that only intensifies when she leans in and kisses him. he holds absolutely still for a moment, desire warring with the uncertainty of any inexperienced teenaged boy, and then he — kisses her back, hesitant and tentative now that it's not couched on the back of immediate urgency. there's an uncertain hesitancy to it, but nothing to indicate, certainly, that he can't be taught. when he breaks away from it that uncertainty remains, but he takes a deep breath and looks at her this time instead of letting his gaze skirt around her general form. ）
Is there a way I should ask?
（ at least he's good at asking for advice,,,,,, ）
the vulnerabilities flying around his room could choke a bear
Leaning back out of his space, because the notion that she must be crowding him is as persistent as anything, she sits up beside him on the edge of the bed, laughing quietly at the question. ]
Maybe if it sounds like you could also mean another bowl of fried rice or a sparring round... [ She trails off, pressing her lips closed as her eyes narrow. Deadpanning can get a girl pretty far in life, but it can't get a person everywhere. ] I told you I wasn't an expert - just - [ For as much as this level of openness makes her want to squirm, Nami gets the rest of her thought out without looking like she would like to walk into the sea - which is impressive, given how much she'd like to walk into the sea right now. ] Tell me that you want me.
literally...
but that statement makes things shift and click into place. a different context, a different colour. he's been caught up in reluctance without realizing how that might look to her, how it might seem, and that sudden shift in his awareness makes him feel like a fucking moron all over again. if rukia were here, she'd have kicked him by now.
he shakes his head, swallows. having a moment's clarity makes things easier in a way, because at least he knows how to navigate having stepped on someone else's emotional insecurity by now. he reaches out, and covers her hand with his, thumbing at the mark of her suit. like his, it's lighter. ）
I do want you. You're amazing, and that felt amazing, and I'd... like to, I want to do it again.
（ a pause. and then with a drag of his hand across his face — ）
Maybe slower.
（ for legal purposes this is a self burn. ）
no subject
The past isn't worth focusing on right now, and neither is the caginess that arises hand in hand with the sense of appreciation that warms through her chest at his words. She needed to hear that from him, but she doesn't have to like that she needed to hear that. ]
A lot slower. [ Her free hand rests on the one he's settled on hers, smiling at him hesitantly but fondly. He may have meant it as an insult directed at himself, but when Nami agrees, it's too earnest not to be wholly sincere. Everything that happened might have gone down fast, but if anything, it was more of a condensed version of a great experience rather than anything worth poking fun at him about - which says a lot considering how fun it is to give him shit. ] And less apologizing. There's no reason. I'm not sorry I came up here.
[ Reassured but left with the increasingly familiar feeling that she's making this up as she goes, her eyes run over his form, lingering on the slight glow of aquamarine coming from the hand she isn't holding. ]
Is... [ Nami's been focused on putting out the more immediate fires in the vicinity - and tripping over herself in the process - it hasn't escaped her attention exactly, but the rest of him had a more pressing hold on her (hah). ] Is that part of the tattoo thing? Or is that you and your powers? [ She's guessing, but she's spent enough time around Ichigo to know what his abilities look like, and while this isn't the crimson light he flooded that sex doll-filled tunnel with, she wouldn't put it past him to be doing something to restrain himself if it's in the sphere of his abilities. ] Does it hurt? [ Kind of important to know given she's already shown her penchant for grabbing him and pulling him where she wants him to go. ]
no subject
It's... you know the statues?
（ a moment's further hesitance, and then he lifts the hand up for her to take properly. the stone's retreated, but it's not quite entirely gone. ）
I think that's what happens if you — hold out too long.
no subject
And you said you were okay? [ She makes a brief tsking sound under her breath, wanting to reach for him again but settling for the safety of continuing to let her hand cover his. ]
Idiot. Why didn't you say something before it got this bad? [ Stupid question - one she'd be able to answer quite readily if the tables were turned and it was her with something like this to hide (on top of all the usual stuff she's got to hide that is).
Nami shifts on the bed enough to bump her hip against his side, head tilting like she's got something to mull over. ]
I guess if you really haven't done anything like this, suggesting we start with something you know you like won't work, huh?
no subject
I didn't know until I talked with a friend about it. It wasn't on purpose.
（ but he does look Thoroughly Chastised, and his gaze cuts away from her like a knife even as his cheeks redden, high points of colour that still as always clash horribly with his hair. the way she can flip to being so matter-of-fact about sex will probably never stop breaking his brain.
gaze askance, head tipped low, he manages to mutter: ）
I liked you on top. You, uh.
（ how does he use words actually??? ）
The, uh. （ no, they're still not coming back to him. so ichigo, in full and abject mortification, just sort of puts his free hand against his chest, hand cupped like he's trying to mime a breast, because. let's face it. he's a boob guy. a boob guy who can't say 'wow i liked the way your tiddies bounced for that 5 seconds i was inside you'. ）
no subject
You like my breasts? [ If he can't say it, she will, whether it helps or just flusters him further remains to be seen. She wouldn't be shocked. ]
You know you can touch me, right? [ A pause, before she revises that statement. ] You know I want you to touch me, right?
no subject
Yeah, I like — them. （ ichigo, just use the word. his mouth works briefly on empty air, and then: ） Your breasts.
（ somewhere, an angel just got its wings. ）
Sorry I was too rough before.
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)