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Sitting in front of Ikumi now, Ichigo was absolutely devastated.
“Don’t make fun of me,” he muttered, his eyes downcast. “I’m not good at this stuff.”
It would have been clear to anyone looking in that Ichigo’s confession had taken a lot out of him. His ears were still red, and he refused to look Ikumi in the eye out of the fear that she would laugh at him.
But Ikumi was the only person he felt he could talk to about this. His dad was obviously a big no, and he could never imagine sharing something so personal about his and Orihime’s relationship with his friends. Besides, his pride was on the line. The last thing he needed was for them to know he couldn’t perform as a boyfriend.
“I think you’re making a really big deal out of this,” Ikumi said finally, and Ichigo was surprised to find that her tone was gentle. “It’s normal. You’ve never had sex before, right?”
“No,” Ichigo admitted with a dull blush.
“And neither has she?”
“No.”
“And she didn’t laugh at you?”
“No,” Ichigo said. Orihime had been very kind about it, actually. After they’d nervously made it into her bedroom and taken off their clothes, she had been quite eager, kissing him and responding to his clumsy touch with soft, enthusiastic sounds that made his head spin. She had been quite gentle too, her fingers tentative and loving as they drifted from his cheek, to his chest, to his stomach, to down lower, flushing when her fingers wrapped around him, but curiously determined. Orihime wanted him, and even just the notion of that had been weird to Ichigo. He’d never been self-conscious about his body, particularly, but his hair was strange, and people said he had an intimidating face, and he’d never quite stopped being lanky, even after all that training and fighting in different realms. All he had gained was some muscle, but even there, it was just the regular kind of toned, the regular kind of athletic. He didn’t have much to offer to someone like Orihime, who was effortlessly beautiful, even during awkward sex.
But that afternoon, she had looked up at him with desire in her eyes, like he was everything to her, and it was the kind of look that had always given him an exhilarating courage to be more, to earn whatever love she was giving him, so he’d been determined to take care of her, to make her feel good. But he hadn’t been able to make her come. He’d lapped at her middle for what felt like an agonizing amount of time, and even though she’d twitched and trembled and guided his head to where her clit was after a patient amount of waiting for him to find it himself, she hadn’t exactly been able to make it there.
In the end, she just gently pushed his head away and said, “A-Ah, I don’t think it’s going to happen today, but it’s okay! Thank you for trying!”
And even though she had sounded sincere in her gratitude, Ichigo had felt awful. Especially since she’d let him stick himself inside her anyway, and it had felt like the best goddamn thing on earth, giggling cutely when he came all over her stomach. Afterwards, she'd decided they should cuddle before he went home, and they did exactly that, her cheeks soft and pink as he held her, his failures forgiven and forgotten.
He'd been thinking about it with his dick in his hand every day since then.
He knew Orihime had been embarrassed about making him work so hard for her pleasure and that she’d mostly been trying to relieve him of that duty, but he was her boyfriend. He loved her. She was going to be his wife someday, if things kept on like they were right now, but at the rate he was going, he didn’t think he’d deserve her at all if she couldn’t feel good with him. Kurosaki Ichigo: bad at sex, was not a title he wanted to add to his list of accomplishments. Especially not if he was with Orihime.
“You don’t get it,” Ichigo said shakily. “She’s…”
Important wasn’t even the half of it.
“Ah, that’s so cute,” Ikumi laughed. “Who would’ve thought, my stuffy little employee, head over heels for a girl.”
“You promised you wouldn’t make fun of me!” Ichigo squawked, and though he wanted it to come out stronger, it came out as a boyish whine, one that made Ikumi stifle another laugh.
“I’m not making fun of you.” She sobered, like she could tell that he was sensitive about it. “And anyway, you two are still so young. It’s still early days, right? Of course you’re not going to be good at it straight away. These things come with time and communication. As long as it’s safe and consensual, take it slow.” Her eyes narrowed. “You did ask for her consent, right?”
“Of course I did!” Ichigo said hotly. “I’d never do anything Inoue wouldn’t want me to do!”
“Don’t call her ‘Inoue’ in bed, you’re so formal.” Ikumi poked him in the forehead with the back of her pencil, while Ichigo flushed at the thought of calling her Orihime.
“But wait,” he muttered slowly, his face still hot. “How do I—?” His fists curled into his trousers. Damn it. This shit was embarrassing as hell.
“Get good at it?” Ikumi guessed, her face sympathetic. “Pay attention. See what she likes, what she responds to. Don’t take it all on yourself. Let her show you what she wants from you. Chances are, if she likes you, then you’re already halfway there.”
Ichigo considered that. He’d always had a bad habit, somehow, of doing just that. Taking it all on himself. Thinking back to Orihime that afternoon, he could tell she hadn’t been frustrated or impatient with him. She hadn’t been upset at all. He had been harsh with himself, and he had decided he was a failure instead of trying again and learning what her body really liked. Heck, he could’ve figured it out that afternoon, if he hadn’t been busy beating himself up for his horrible tongue game.
“I’ve got it.” Ichigo got up, his chair dragging back from the force of it. “Thanks, Ikumi-san.”
“Have fun!” Ikumi called out, laughing to herself as she saw the seriousness with which he moved towards the door. “But not too much, okay?”
Ichigo flushed and slammed the door behind him.
-
The next time he got to see Orihime was a few days later. She’d invited him over, wanting to cook for him, and he figured he could stay over, if she wanted him to. She’d been enthusiastic about the idea, flooding his chat with kaomojis, so he’d packed his overnight bag and headed on over, telling his family he was going to Chad’s.
(He had a feeling they didn’t believe him anyway, based on the snickering looks his sisters shared on his way out.)
Orihime’s apartment was as homely as it always was. She’d thrown the windows open to let some fresh air in while she kept a vigilant eye on the stove. Ichigo, on the other hand, kept a vigilant eye on her, his throat dry and his pants uncomfortably tight. She was wearing a thin-strapped top over a long skirt, a section of her hair pulled back into a butterfly clip. When she turned over her shoulder and smiled at him, he felt his stomach drop. She was too much.
“You’re quiet today,” she said, coming over to him, but not quite sitting down yet. One of her mittened hands came up to rest on the head of his chair. “Did you have a fight with your dad again?”
“No,” he said, licking his lips at her nearness. “I’m fine.”
Her smile widened. “That’s good. I’m glad you could visit. I’ve been wanting to try this recipe all week.” Something about her tone told him this was of great importance to her.
Ichigo forced himself to take a breath and will his nervousness away. “What are you making?”
“It’s a surprise!” she said, offended. “I can’t tell you.”
“I could just come into the kitchen and lift the lid.”
“Don’t you dare,” she said, poking his shoulder, though it was too gentle of a touch to actually hurt. He wanted to poke her back, but she was gone, back in the kitchen and lifting the lid of her pot again. From the smell of it, he could tell she was making rice. It smelled delicious, and the flavor was familiar, warm and spicy, but he couldn’t put a finger on it. He wondered if Orihime knew he was nervous, then promptly decided it was better to act natural instead of worrying her. She had enough to worry about as it was.
“Can I help with anything?” he called out, wanting to do something to settle his restless nerves.
“No, I’m almost done,” she called back, turning the knob of her stove off. “You just sit there and wait for me to bring this out.”
“You sure? That pot looks heavy.”
“Kurosaki-kun! You’re not supposed to be looking here!” She turned over her shoulder to stare at him warily. She picked up her mittened hands and made a sweeping motion with them. “Shoo! Look away!”
Ichigo laughed despite himself. Did she really think that would work? He moved his gaze away obediently anyway, staring out of the window and down the street. He thought about what they’d do tonight, about taking Orihime to bed, and instantly felt nervous again.
“Ta-da!” Orihime announced, drawing his gaze back as she approached the table with her pot. “One batch of karashi mentaiko onigiri, coming right up!” She set it on the table proudly and smiled at him. “I took the recipe from your sister.”
Ichigo snorted. No wonder his sisters didn’t believe he was going to Chad’s tonight. However, a bigger part of him was touched. He’d told her long before they were dating that this was his favorite dinner. “You didn’t have to.”
“Mm, I know. But I wanted to make something for you,” she said, and a bit of uncertainty crept in as her voice grew soft. “I’m not sure how it turned out, though.”
“I'm sure it's good,” he assured her. “Get yourself a plate too, let's eat.”
Orihime beamed. Like he had said, dinner was good, and it was great to sit with Orihime and eat, really. He liked watching her take little bites into her rice. She’d poured honey over hers, claiming the recipe was a bit spicy for her taste, and though Ichigo’s nose wrinkled at the thought of honey and rice, her knee was touching his under the table, and the awareness of that muted everything else. He wondered if it was because he was a late bloomer or if it was just her, but everything she did made his breath stop short, made his heart race. No one deserved to look that beautiful with rice crumbs on her cheeks.
“—saki-kun?” Orihime leaned in, her eyes big and wide with concern as she touched his wrist. “Are you okay?”
His entire body felt the shiver her touch produced.
“Yeah!” he said quickly, then winced at his over-enthusiastic tone.
Orihime frowned too. “Is it the rice?” The concern in her eyes faltered into something hesitant, wounded. “Did I get it wrong?”
“No,” he insisted weakly. “It’s good, Inoue.”
“I did wonder if I should’ve used more water, but my rice-cooker is old, so I thought it would get too heavy if I did.”
“It's not the rice,” he told her firmly. “The rice was delicious.”
Orihime beamed. “Okay.”
“Go get the TV on.” Ichigo smiled at her softly. “I'll clean up here.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah. I'll join you in a minute.”
“Okay.” Orihime braced her hands on his shoulders and gave his cheek a kiss. “Thank you.”
Ichigo's heart nearly stopped. “Y-yeah.”
Orihime laughed and left him in the kitchen to do his bidding.
In the time that he had away from her, Ichigo braced himself for what was coming next, briskly pacing back and forth between the table and the kitchen as he set their empty dishes down to soak in the sink. In the hall, he could see Orihime poking around her DVD cabinet, picking out a movie for them to watch. Ichigo breathed in deep, then headed over to the sink to wash his hands one last time.
When he wandered out into the hall, Orihime was already on the couch, waiting for him, her legs tucked beneath her.
“I thought we could watch The Terminator.” She grinned. “You said you haven't seen it, right?”
Ichigo laughed. “No.”
She clapped excitedly, hitting play and budging over to make room for him. Ichigo set himself down next to her, but not close enough for them to be touching. The thought made him nervous, even as he scolded himself for his lack of initiative.
It was hard to get things started, to actually allow himself to believe it was okay to touch her and think about her like that. Even back in high school, the most he'd let himself acknowledge was that she was pretty. Anything more was strictly forbidden, even in the privacy of his own thoughts. He'd never allowed himself the thrill of a fantasy. It was all so new.
These days though, he thought about her in a newer light—her lean back, the way she might look in the shower, her gentle hands grazing over her own body. Her supple mouth on him, around him. Her voice saying his name, his given name, sweet and desperate and just a little hoarse.
Beside him, Orihime was hugging a pillow to her chest, her arms pale and bare for the summer. Ichigo forced his gaze away and paid attention to the movie, willing his thoughts towards Arnold Schwarzenegger and not the fact that they were here, alone, and that he'd be staying the night. It was the wrong kind of night to wear jeans, but he settled into the couch and forced a determined frown onto his face anyway. As long as everything remained the same, he'd be fine. He could concentrate.
About halfway through the movie, Orihime stirred to shift her legs, making their arms brush. She looked up at him and smiled in apology, then returned her head to rest on his shoulder with a little sigh. Every part of his body became aware that she was touching him—her hip next to his, her head on his shoulder, the heavy curve of her breast brushing his chest. Her shirt was thin and so was his, thin enough that he could—imagine. Remember.
Ichigo shifted to put his arm around her, swallowing when it brought them closer. Tentatively, he let his hand drift down her bare arm with just his fingertips, his throat drying at how soft her skin was. Orihime let out a feeble murmur and snuggled in closer, one hand settling on his stomach. Feeling bolder, Ichigo pressed a shy kiss to her temple, her cheek. When Orihime turned to look at him, he closed his eyes and dove straight in for her mouth.
On screen, the Terminator fired a shot. Or, he might have. Ichigo didn't know. He and Orihime were kissing now, the catch and release of their mouths sounding loud and wet in the room. Orihime's fingers drove into Ichigo's hair, and Ichigo tipped her chin up to pull her closer, struggling to find a good angle to dip his tongue in. The most he managed was a short sweep against the seam of her lip, but that was all it took for Orihime to shiver.
“Is this okay?” Ichigo murmured, settling one hand on her hip as if to brace himself.
Orihime blushed and nodded, working out a kink in her neck from the bizarre angle they were kissing in.
“Maybe you should…” Ichigo trailed off nervously, putting some weight into the hand that was on her hip. Orihime seemed to understand, turning over until each of her knees were planted on either side of him. When she lowered herself to straddle him, he felt his cock give out a strong throb in his pants.
“Is it okay?” Orihime asked, a little nervous, her hands settled on his shoulders. “Am I too heavy?”
“No,” Ichigo whispered, tilting his head up for a kiss. Orihime wrapped her arms around his shoulders and complied, pushing her chest into his until he could feel her firm breasts flush against him. Ichigo let his hands drift up her thighs, wanting to push her skirt out of the way, wanting to feel her soft skin. When his lips parted, Orihime’s tongue swept in, making him groan. It wasn’t the smoothest kissing in the world, but his tongue lapped back at hers until they were muffling noises against each other, quiet but desperate. Ichigo’s thumb stroked along the elastic line of her skirt, and when he realized her shirt had ridden up, he drifted it against the smooth curve of her hip.
Orihime moaned softly into his mouth, then pulled back with an embarrassed blush. Ichigo’s eyes fell to her heaving chest, the way her clothes seemed tighter on her body.
“Should we take this to my room?” she asked, a little out of breath.
Ichigo wasn’t even sure he could walk with how heavy his cock was in his pants, but he nodded anyway. Orihime took that as a cue to get off him, stumbling a little when her feet landed on the floor.
“Oops.” She smiled sheepishly, stretching a hand out for him to take.
Ichigo resisted the urge to pull her back into his lap and forced himself up, letting Orihime lead him into her bedroom, his heart in his throat. By the time they fell back into her bed, he was kissing her again, messy and aimless and hungry. Orihime's mouth was soft and open under his and he was careful to follow her rhythm, their mouths meeting in ways that were starting to feel good and not clumsy. Ichigo was more focused than he'd ever been, his eyes and ears sharper, mouth more disciplined. If a certain movement of his tongue made her whimper, he did it again. If a certain touch under her belly made her shiver, he pursued that pleasure again with his thumb, rubbing and rubbing until her sounds grew louder.
After what felt like an eternity, Orihime gently pushed at his chest. “Kurosaki-kun…” she breathed, her eyes glazed. “What’s going on?”
Ichigo frowned, a little dazed by the action. “What do you mean?”
“You seem—” Orihime flushed, her voice coming down to a whisper, ‘—different.”
Ichigo’s brows raised high. He didn’t think she’d notice the difference, but then again, it was just like Orihime to peer into his face and find something in there, even if it was for a question he didn’t want to answer.
“I, uh.” He averted his gaze, face burning. Being on top of her was probably the most awkward position to be having this conversation, but he tried to power through it anyway. “I know the last couple of times weren’t too good for you, so I’m…I’m trying to…”
Orihime leaned up and kissed him, cutting his line of thought in half as her mouth brushed his. Ichigo’s stomach nearly dropped at the surge of pleasure that rushed through him, but she moved away from him again, her eyes dewy with a desire that stopped his breath as she looked up at him.
“But it was good,” she told him, protesting when he scoffed. “No. It was. Not because we knew what we were doing, but because it’s always good when I’m with you. I’ve—” he watched her throat move as she swallowed. “I’ve never wanted anyone else.”
Ichigo surged forward and kissed her again, hard and deep and full of emotions he didn’t have the words for.
“So it’s okay,” she whispered against his mouth. “We’re still new to this. Right?”
“Yeah,” he replied.
He was still going to make her come hard enough to scream, though.
As if sensing his intent, Orihime shivered, grasping his arms when he pushed her back onto the bed. His hips settled in between her legs, the thickness of his erection making her gasp. Ichigo buried his face against her shoulder and fought down the fierce surge of pleasure.
“Can I see you?” he asked her after a moment, a little strained.
When he drew back, Orihime seemed to flush, then nodded, timidly and lifted her shirt off her body to reveal herself. A faint line of hair followed her belly button down to her underwear, but Ichigo was more distracted by her breasts. The faint mounds of her nipples had made a rather obvious shape against her bra, and he wanted to run his fingers against them, to feel them go plump and stiff under his touch.
Instead, he pulled her mouth to his for another kiss, groaning when she beckoned him deeper with little sweeps of her tongue. Her hand left his stomach and reached for his cheek, delicate fingers trailing down his neck as if they were searching. Ichigo could hardly draw his mouth away from her long enough to ask what she was looking for, but his curiosity was quenched when she found his hand and drew it inside her bra.
“Nggn,” he grunted, feeling the heat of her nipple as he rolled it under his fingers. Orihime squirmed, then reached behind herself to undo her bra strap. Ichigo quickly pulled it off and tossed it aside, but he hesitated to touch her again, stunned by the shape of her body, the freckles that touched her stomach, and her ribs. For a moment, Ichigo just looked at her, amazed. Then, he dropped his mouth to her breast, pressing a tentative kiss to the underside.
“Ichigo,” Orihime whispered, running her hands through his hair.
Ichigo met her gaze for a second, then drew a perked nipple into his mouth. Orihime's fingers tightened, but he hardly registered it as his lips closed around the flushed nub. God, she was sweet. She was actually sweet. Somehow, spending all that time in the bakery had imprinted a permanent scent and taste onto her that made him want to suck harder, deeper. Feeling it swell under his tongue, knowing her body was responding to him, made him more confident. She wanted him. His touch gave her pleasure.
“Ichigo-kun,” Orihime cried softly, tilting her hips to seek friction against him.
“Orihime,” Ichigo breathed, pulling his mouth away to settle his forehead on hers. “You like this?”
“Yes.”
“You like my mouth on you?”
Orihime nodded, her eyes going shy, even as she framed his hands and traced his lips with both her thumbs.
“Then - Can I put it somewhere else?”
She flushed. “You mean…”
“Yeah.” He wiped his mouth nervously, then picked up her hand. “I want to take care of you.” He kissed her fingers. “Is that okay?”
“Yes,” she said finally, her voice soft and sweet. Ichigo leaned in and kissed her nose, then kissed her lips as well. Down below, one of his hands lifted her thigh, thumb stroking the outline of her underwear. She was soft here, sensitive, and he could tell by the way she squirmed that she wanted him to touch her.
Ichigo gave into the impulse, letting two long fingers stroke up and down her slit. A wet patch had formed on the cloth, but Ichigo imagined she must be wetter on the inside. Curious, he decided to test his theory, tugging her underwear aside to run a long finger inside her.
Orihime bucked up almost instantly. “Ichigo-kun.”
Ichigo lowered his mouth and kissed her folds gently, then pulled her underwear off with trembling hands. When he returned between her legs, he was in awe of the little bush of curls, the soft center of her body. He ran one thumb up her slit, then let it dip in, gentle and massaging. It was almost addictive. Orihime's hands tightened on his arms, but her face seemed tense, like she was trying to escape the pleasure.
Ichigo decided he'd spent enough time working up the courage and pushed his mouth to her center. Orihime dropped one hand to his head but otherwise let him move, her breaths shaky with anticipation as he lapped at her folds in tight, short sweeps. She was sensitive here, easily aroused. Ichigo let his mouth go soft on her, like he was kissing her mouth, his lips and tongue teasing out pleasure.
“Oh, that's good,” Orihime sighed, her thighs tightening around his head. “Can you—?” She lifted her hips, adjusting his head until he was near her clit. “There. Right there.”
Ichigo obeyed her, his tongue darting out to feel the little nub on his tip. She let out a high-pitched whine, then muffled herself as a thin line of sweat began to coat her body. Her quick, anticipatory sounds excited him. He let his tongue go faster, rougher, but Orihime loosened in frustration.
“Too fast?” Ichigo asked, glancing up at her.
She flushed. “It's easier when it's—when you—”
He got it. He returned to her clit, a little slower now, a little more consistent. Hard, concentrated laps that felt more like a massage and less like how he wanted to go when he was inside her. Orihime gripped his arms and began making those breathy sounds again, sucking her belly in anticipation.
Ichigo broke away to kiss her there, then settled one hand on each of her thighs and pulled her back into him. When she came, she shrieked, her grip going tight on his hair — tighter than she usually allowed herself. Ichigo ignored the ache in his elbows and drifted up to her, tilting her sweaty face until it shone under the low light.
“Did you come?” he blurted.
A faint pink spilled over her cheeks, but she nodded, pleased. “Thank you, Ichigo-kun.”
He snorted, dropping a head to her shoulder in relief. His own pain, which he'd forgotten all about, flared when he felt Orihime rub a gentle hand up and down his crotch, her thighs rubbing against each other needily. Ichigo could barely hold in a groan as he reached blindly for the condoms he kept in her bedside drawer. Orihime kept stroking him, her hand gentle on his stomach, on his thigh, on his cock.
“We could stop,” he offered gently, when he drew back to her.
Orihime shook her head, her large eyes loving when her hand drifted up to his neck. “I dream about you, you know.”
His heart seized in his chest. “I dream about you, too.”
She smiled. He leaned down and kissed her, short, affectionate kisses until he remembered, again, the sound she made when she came.
“Do you think you could come again?” he asked urgently, almost greedily. “If I—”
“I can try,” she said quickly, moving back so she could help him roll the condom on.
When he thrust inside her, he was almost sure he was going to lose himself in seconds, the pleasure so intense it almost blinds him. Orihime cants her hips, then wraps her legs around him, her sighs of pleasure soft and soothing. She's wetter than she was when they did this before.
I did that, he thought, thrusting harder. Orihime didn't make it the second time around, but she seemed to like it anyway, being pressed into him, pressed down by him. When he came, she ran a fond hand through his hair, then covered his mouth and gave his nose a kiss.
Ichigo loved her so much.
For a while, they decided to curl into each other and nap, overwhelmed by the rush of feeling and sensation. It was late enough at night by now that they should have probably slept, but Ichigo just spent an inordinate time stroking her hair, her back, the soft curves of her breasts while she made quiet, sleepy sounds and kissed his chest.
Eventually, his hand found itself between her legs again, fingers dragging along the wetness.
“Can I try again?” he asked.
“Okay,” Orihime whispered, tightening her fingers over his shoulders.
This time he had a better idea of how to massage her, even though they were laying sideways. He watched her mouth fall open, her eyes flicker shut, and he knew he'd get addicted soon. To the sight of her pleasure. To the feel of it under his fingertips. He let herself rub against him for a while, then made long, pleasurable circles with his fingers while she held onto him for dear life.
This time, he didn't have to ask. Orihime's keening cry was answer enough.
He wondered if Orihime would mind if he tried that again.