When he kisses her, she tastes of sake and sweets. She moans into his mouth, her fingers soft and sure as they walk over his skin, pressing them closer together. They move together in a familiar rhythm, one that seems to be missing a third of the notes, but Izuru steadfastly ignores that and deepens the kiss.
Rangiku is warm and soft in all the right places. She knows just how to touch him, just how to make him squirm and ignite a fire deep in his belly. He loves to card his fingers through her hair, let the silky strands slide through his fingers. He loves to watch her eyes darken with lust when he kisses down her abdomen, peppering his mouth over her breasts and stomach, tonguing her belly button. That always makes her squirm, sometimes laugh.
He likes to hear her laugh. Kami knows they haven’t done enough of that lately.
His hand slides along her thigh and Rangiku lets him slide against her, sliding deep inside of her in one slick thrust that makes them both moan. She clutches at him, her slim fingers and nails digging into his back, her legs wrapping around his waist. Izuru gasps into her throat, licking up the smooth column, tasting sweat while surrounded by the subtle perfume she always wears.
He doesn’t move, just throbs inside of her, and it takes a moment for Izuru to realize just what he’s waiting for: another hand to join the fray. He’s anticipating, hoping, waiting for those elegant fingers to drag down his back, for a slimmer, warm body to press against him from behind, to circle long arms around both Izuru and Rangiku in a firm embrace.
That touch never comes, it can’t come, not anymore, and Izuru plants an apologetic kiss on Rangiku’s collarbone. She makes a noise, a rumble of understanding in her throat, and Izuru starts to move, long and gentle thrusts that build the fire between them into a low, hungry flame. Her nails drag down his back, light scores that seem desperate to replace the missing sensation of long, caressing fingers.
They say nothing more than allowing quiet gasps and moans, both acutely aware of the missing presence, the missing factor that adds an element of off-rhythm to their movements. But even that unease doesn’t prevent their bodies from responding, from Rangiku clenching around him and Izuru coming with a shudder that travels from head to toe in waves of dizzying pleasure.
Izuru collapses in her arms in a sticky, sweaty tangle. He can hear her heatbeat beneath his ears as he hooks one arm around her waist, drawing her tightly against him. And he waits, always waits, for the arm to throw itself over the both of them and the heat to lie against Izuru’s exposed back.
Izuru waits a long time for something that’s not going to come, Gin’s absent presence here more startling than the empty captain’s seat in the third division.