[if Akira picks up on the sharper edges in Ichigo's eyes, he doesn't say anything about them. nor does he pull back, instead keeping his focus on the way Ichigo tastes and feels and smells and-- god, he could get lost in this sensation, couldn't he? he presses forward when his partner does, hands sliding to his shoulders to nudge him back, back, back even further still until they bump up against a bookstore couch]
[only then does he withdraw, but only enough to shove Ichigo backwards onto said couch with one hand. the other is plucking his glasses from his face and deposit them on a nearby bookshelf]
no subject
[only then does he withdraw, but only enough to shove Ichigo backwards onto said couch with one hand. the other is plucking his glasses from his face and deposit them on a nearby bookshelf]
[hey. time to make out on a bookstore couch]