Virgin fantasies

It was late, very late, and Ichigo was just getting into bed. He stretched out on it, rubbed his cheek against the worn cotton of his pillowcase and let his naked back arch off the mattress for a moment, allowing cool air to brush over his skin.

There hadn’t been any hollows tonight, his substitute shinigami badge had stayed blissfully quiet, and the only reason he hadn’t got into bed until now was because he’d been curled up on the couch downstairs, watching a late night horror movie marathon on TV while eating more popcorn than could possibly be good for him.

And tomorrow was Sunday. He was up to date with his homework, he had nothing planned.

It was a good night.

Ichigo smiled to himself, just a little, and once more raised his back off the mattress, this time planting his feet on it as well and lifting his ass. He hooked his thumbs into the elastic of both boxer briefs and sweats and tugged them down to his knees before kicking them off and to the side.

Without looking he reached back between the metal bars of the headboard and fumbled around blindly for a moment on the shelf behind it before grabbing a couple of paper tissues from the box standing there and putting them down beside him on the bed.

It was a good night, but it could definitely stand to end even better.

It had been a while, a week, maybe more. School, the sudden appearance of that batshit, big-mouthed kid with the Prince Valiant cut and all the shit that came with that, and the constant stress of not knowing what would happen next, when the Captain-turned-traitor Aizen would make his big move and what that move would even be, had left him exhausted and most nights he’d been asleep before his head hit the pillow.

It was about time. Ichigo felt pent up emotions, urges and half-formed fantasies bubble in the back of his mind and he was more than ready to let them all out. He needed this.

He rubbed a hand over his throat for a moment before letting a couple of fingers slide down over the hollow where his collarbones met, down his chest, then stray to the left and brush over a nipple. He could feel it tighten under his fingertips and sucked in his bottom lip between his teeth, biting down softly. Damn, but it felt good. He closed his fingers over it, pinching it, rolling it, and nearly groaned at the little zap of arousal shooting down straight to his groin, making his cock twitch. It was already half-hard, still resting on coarse rust-colored curls and the thin trail of finer hair that lead up to his navel, but before long he’d be hard, maybe so hard it would almost hurt and oh.

Ichigo bit his lip a little harder and slid his other hand down his stomach, wrapping it around himself. He’d planned – no, not really planned, just a fleeting thought earlier – to take his time: drawing it out, building it up, staying away from grabbing his cock until he felt about ready to blow, but he knew it would be impossible.

It was a shame really. Ichigo usually hurried through masturbation, rubbing a quick one out in the shower or before falling asleep. He rarely felt completely at ease, never knew when his father would kick down his door in a surprise attack, always had the looming threat of his badge going off hanging over his head. Plus, until recently he’d been on an insane chase throughout all of Seireitei, trying to rescue Rukia. And before that, Rukia had been living in his damn closet. Not much peace and quiet in Kurosaki Ichigo’s life, no sirree. Always some fucked up shit going down and when not, he had school.

He’d tried taking care of himself outdoors once, settling high up in a tree after having finished off a stubborn bunch of hollows, but despite being hard, despite adrenaline and explosive energy still rushing in his veins he’d been unable to get off. It had felt so stupid and besides someone could have seen him. Forget that he’d been far above the ground or in shinigami form, invisible to most. He’d still felt exposed and vulnerable.

Ichigo supposed he wasn’t much of an exhibitionist.

Tonight he felt safe. With his curtains drawn and his door locked, his cell and all the lights turned off, and his family sound asleep (he’d checked, pressing his ear against their doors, hearing loud snoring from his father’s room and absolutely nothing at all from his sisters’) he tightened his grip on his cock and slowly pulled up, letting his fingers glide over smooth, still dry skin all the way up to where the head had started peeking out from under the foreskin, rolling the loose skin up again and pinching it closed in the ‘o’ of his thumb and forefinger. He could feel his cock fill out further, rise fully, and allowed himself to groan under his breath. It felt so fucking good.

Ichigo tugged on his nipple a little, slid his hand back down his length and let his eyes flutter closed. He focused on the feeling for a while – the slow, firm move of his hand, the little jolts of pleasure spreading out from his chest – before his mind started to wander.

At first it was just one thought.

I wish someone else was doing this to me.

But soon it turned into a matter of who. He had a couple of choices; some quite bland, just enough to make him come, like that one girl in his parallel class, the one with glossy hair reaching down almost to her waist when she wore it down. The thought of how that hair must feel fanned out over his stomach and chest and, heck, down past his knees while a hot mouth took his cock in deep always did the trick. Some, although he didn’t really want to admit it – it made him feel slightly creepy, mostly working as fuck dolls: nameless, faceless girls.

Then there were those who, if he was fired up enough, could get him off in seconds. Those were the ones he sometimes couldn’t stop himself from thinking about but every time he did it made his cheeks prickle and guilt gnaw in the pit of his stomach. Shameful. Dirty. Wrong.

Those were the ones with harder bodies and deep voices... The ones he wanted to suck as much as he wanted them to suck him.

And among those... No. Ichigo stilled his hand, let up the grip on his nipple, the perpetual scowl that had been pretty much absent for most of the evening returning with a vengeance. He couldn’t, shouldn’t go there.

But who would know? He had yet to meet anyone who could read his mind. No one would know.

No one but him.

It wouldn’t be the first time he jerked off while thinking of... of him, but really, he’d been ambushed all those times. No, really, he had. It wasn’t his fault split second images of thick, black tattoos and cocky, crooked grins, lazy glances and vibrant red hair pushed their way to the front of his thoughts as he was close, it wasn’t his fault Renji was so goddamn fucking sexy. Damn that annoying bastard! Why did he have to be so hot? Why did just the thought of him sometimes make Ichigo’s stomach do a flip and his groin tighten, make him want to dig his fingers into that long hair and lick the jagged lines tattooed on the sides of his neck.

Ichigo noticed with a start that his hand on his cock had started moving again and he nearly yanked it away but stopped himself at the last moment.

Was it really so bad? To just think of him? For Ichigo to let himself drown in all those images for once and just fucking go with it?

No, he decided. And yes. No, it wasn’t so bad to let himself go once (just this once) and yes, it was bad to think about Renji, because Renji was loud and irritating, a vice captain with an alpha-male complex, a big, stupid buffoon. A man, for fuck’s sake!

But for some reason tonight was special. Tonight Ichigo decided not to give a fuck. He’d deal with it in the morning.

He let out a deep sigh, then took an equally deep breath, clenched his teeth and once more started moving his hand. At first it felt forced, mechanical almost, but it felt too good to keep the stiff motions up for long. His wrist loosened up, adding a little twist at the end of each stroke, just the way he liked it, and the pace slowly picked up, synching with his breathing.

He was starting to get a little wet; the head of his cock glistened when bared and a small, slick noise accompanied every move. It made Ichigo think of saliva, of lips and tongue and he allowed himself to wonder if Renji had ever sucked a guy off, if Renji even swung that way, and decided it didn’t matter. In his mind Renji did and in his mind Renji was pretty damn good at it too.

He imagined firm lips parting, Renji’s tongue sticking out, lapping and tasting. His hair would be down, it had to be, brushing Ichigo’s hips and thighs as he lowered his head and sucked him into his mouth while... while still keeping his eyes on Ichigo, yeah, while watching him for signs of what he liked.

Ichigo was on the verge of letting out a moan but caught himself and out came something guttural and cut-off. Fuck, the thought of Renji sucking his cock was almost too much and he had to slow down a little again. If he was going to allow himself to let go for one night he’d try to hold out, at least a little.

In his mind’s eye Renji’s fingers brushed over his balls, then cupped them gently, just the way he liked it, and soon caught them in a loose grip, tugging ever so lightly, just the way he liked even more.

Before Ichigo knew it he copied what fantasy Renji was doing. “Yeah,” he muttered under his breath, “like that...”

“Like this..?”

Ichigo could see Renji lifting his head, lips sticky with saliva and precome, just long enough to ask the question, a hidden smirk in his voice, before taking Ichigo’s cock back in his mouth and sucking deeper and yeah, just like that.

Ichigo raised his ass off the bed, clenching his muscles hard. He imagined driving into that mouth, making Renji shut up for once. His hand moved so fast on his cock now that the low, wet noise was constant, more precome having seeped from the tip and been spread all over.

Fuck yes, yes, that’s what it’d sound like when he pushed up, when he fucked the smirk off Renji’s face, and he was so, so close now. He could almost feel silky hair sway and brush over his skin, feel a hint of teeth slide down his length, feel long, rough-tipped fingers let go of his balls and slip further down, press against the taint and then, oh god, move even lower.

He couldn’t hold back a whine as his own fingertip rubbed against his hole. It was choked, barely audible, but it was a whine and it was followed by another when Ichigo lessened the pressure, then pushed again, then again. Never inside, just enough to light up each and every one of the myriad of little nerve endings there. Just enough to blow his mind.

Ichigo had never touched himself like that before, never allowed himself although he’d wanted to (oh, how he’d wanted to) but tonight was special and tonight while Ichigo was on the verge of fucking himself with a finger, fantasy Renji actually did, his digits suddenly slippery with lube and one of them breaching him, pushing in-out-in-out hard and fast from the start and Ichigo wanted more. He knew he’d regret it later, but he did. He wanted more fingers, more! He wanted Renji to fuck him. He-

With a strangled, almost surprised moan, the tip of his finger forced just a little bit deeper, just enough for it to sting, Ichigo came.

And, since it had been a while since the last time, he came a lot, a thick trickle of white running down the back of his hand and pooling on his stomach as he squeezed the final few drops out and watched them roll down his thumb.

He felt woozy. He’d come so hard it felt as if he’d been about to black out and for that he found himself grateful. Meant it took the image of Renji fucking him like a goddamn animal a little while to return. He was allowed to land from his high in peace.

When it did return he threw an arm over his eyes and groaned, feeling familiar shame wash over him and flush out the final remnants of pleasure. He was left only feeling sticky and gross and... sated. Alright, Ichigo couldn’t deny that. He really had needed this and his fantasy, no matter how much it freaked him out, had done a fine fucking job. And maybe that was alright.

Tonight was special, after all.

Ichigo could loathe himself tomorrow.

xXx

Comments are welcome and appreciated. :)