He’s Ichigo, only he’s not. There’s something in that difference which is as enticing as it is startling. Ichigo is somewhere behind those black and gold eyes, that devious cackle, and Stark knows it. Just sometimes… he has trouble seeing it.
The Ichigo he knows is stubborn, kind, with a guilt complex a mile wide, so heavy that he’s constantly burned by the weight of it. Shirosaki, on the other hand, never seems to feel bothered by anything. He has a voracious appetite – for food, for sleep, for sex, for anything really – and he doesn’t hesitate to ask for it. He has no shame, doesn’t blush like Ichigo does, and more often than not, Shirosaki is the one who tackles Stark, rather than the other way around.
Kind of like now, in fact.
“Ya know,” Shirosaki purrs, his fingers tickling down Stark’s ribs in a teasing, arousing touch. “It’s times like these I can see why King likes ya.”
Stark’s breath hitches, and his wrists strain against the silky ties that bind them. “Oh? Why’s that?” he asks, hips canting upward, hoping desperately that Shirosaki will take pity on him and finally stroke his cock once or twice.
Shirosaki licks his lips, his expression one of desire and hunger, his face a mirror of Ichigo’s but everything else about him all wrong. “Yer fun to play with,” he says, and leans over, the tip of his tongue touching the pebbled nub of Stark’s nipple.
A groan slips past Stark’s lips before he can stop it, the touch not enough and yet managing to send shocks of erotic pleasure through his body. Shirosaki chuckles in that husky voice of his and adds teeth, a slight pressure that hurts in such a good way. Stark’s body shudders and he arches toward that teasing mouth.
“I think,” Stark says, a moan leaving his lips as Shirosaki transfers his attention to the other nipple, “that your boss values me a little bit more than just a toy.”
Thumbs sweep over his hipbones as Shirosaki’s hands cup his hips, surprisingly warm. “And that’s why me ‘n King will always be a little bit different,” Shirosaki drawls, and there’s a strange note to his voice, like he’s offended or hurt or something.
Stark’s not sure how to interpret it. Because Shirosaki and Ichigo are one and the same, but not quite. It’s something he can’t put into words. But he loves Ichigo, and he’s coming to love all the different parts of him as well. Shirosaki’s no exception. He can’t say that now, it’s too much a revelation of weakness, so he’ll save that confession for later.
For now, he tells the other half of the truth. “I like different,” Stark says, and is rewarded with a kiss, sharp and hungry, that tastes like Ichigo but feels like Shirosaki. Perfect.