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Craving Strawberry Surprise	By : roguebitch Category: Supernatural > Crossovers Views: 1274 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural and make no money from this story. I likewise don't own Bleach and make no money from this story.

Chapter List
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The shower was luxurious. It was large enough for Sam to stand fully under a very satisfying spray of hot water. The glass shower door slid open and Ichigo stepped in. He looked sullen, arms crossed, and gave Sam a cranky look.
“Come here,” Sam said, soaping up the washcloth he held in his hand. He was tall and broad enough that he blocked the shower spray, so he turned sideways to make sure Ichigo got wet. Ichigo didn’t move, letting the water flatten his hair and run down his body, face a study in displeasure. “Seriously, get over here.”
Ichigo stubbornly remained where he was, so Sam pulled him by the wrist towards where he stood. Ichigo held back at first, clearly annoyed with Sam’s delaying tactics, and squirmed in Sam’s grip, taking advantage of the way the water made his skin nearly frictionless. Sam held Ichigo against him with one arm, his back against the tile wall. It was sort of like trying to hug an eel.
Sam tried to kiss Ichigo, but Ichigo took his irritation out on Sam by nipping at his lips with his teeth instead of kissing Sam back. Ichigo bit down along Sam’s jaw. As he swept the soapy washcloth down Ichigo’s lower back and over his ass, Ichigo stiffened and stopped biting. Sam was going to have marks, he knew it.
“What are you doing?” Ichigo said against his throat.
“Making sure you’re clean. Don’t worry, I won’t get any soap inside.” Sam swirled the soapy cloth over and around Ichigo’s asscheeks, dipping briefly into the cleft. Ichigo shuddered against Sam.
“Turn around,” Sam said. “I want to get you everywhere.”
Ichigo turned, putting his back against Sam’s chest. Sam’s dick, which had been semi-hard all day in anticipation, slid across Ichigo’s lower back, bumping across his spine. Sam caught his breath. Ichigo glanced over his shoulder, smirked, and undulated.
“God, stop it,” Sam groaned.
“You stop it,” Ichigo countered.
“Not until you are thoroughly clean.”
Sam finished soaping Ichigo up and rinsing him down, trying to keep it brisk and impersonal. It was hard not to outright stare at the body under his hands, let alone slide his soapy hands all over it.
He turned to shut off the water, but Ichigo grabbed his forearm and did some sort of Shinigami kung-fu that ended up with Sam’s face against the tile, his arm twisted up behind his back, and Ichigo’s other hand between Sam’s shoulder blades, holding him against the wall. Sam struggled and got nowhere.
“What are you doing?”
“You need to be clean too,” Ichigo said. “Give me that washcloth.”
Surrendering, Sam tossed the washcloth behind him. He heard Ichigo catch it and swipe it up and down his back.
“If I let your arm go, you are going to stay against that wall,” Ichigo said, tone severe, in an echo of the previous night.
“Yes,” Sam breathed, ridiculously turned on at being manhandled by Ichigo. As big as he was, he didn’t get caught off balance very often, and practically never for fun reasons.
“Good.”
The washcloth slowed, and Sam felt it sweep down, lower and lower. He braced his splayed hands against the wall.
“Spread your legs.”
The washcloth slipped between Sam’s asscheeks, stroking against his anus and his balls. He moaned, pressing his forehead into the wall. The tile felt cool in comparison to the hot throbbing between his legs.
“I think,” Ichigo said, reaching around Sam’s front and lightly stroking his dick with the cloth, “that you like having something other than fingers inside you too. Am I right?”
Sam had absolutely no pride when it came to sex; he liked it too much and didn’t get it enough to be coy about it, so he gasped, “Right.”
“How long since you have?” Ichigo dropped the cloth and clumsily worked Sam’s cock in his slippery fist. The hand in the middle of Sam’s back pressed him remorselessly into the wall.
“Oh...a while.” Sam’s hips jerked with Ichigo’s movements. “Can’t...remember...oh, fuck that’s good, Ichigo, I’m going to...” and he slid his dick quickly through Ichigo’s encircling hand, groaning. His come splattered against the wall, rinsed away quickly by the still-running shower.
Well, that happened fast, Sam thought vaguely, resting his forehead against the tile. His legs trembled, breath catching at each electric aftershock, as Ichigo stroked him more gently. Then he patted Sam’s softening dick and removed his hand from Sam’s back.
“All clean,” he said, sounding extremely pleased with himself.
Sam turned so that he could rinse off his front, and stared down at Ichigo, unable to keep the amazement off his face.
“Do you think I don’t know what I want?” Ichigo asked, eyebrow raised and sounding very adult all of a sudden.
He stepped out of the shower, and the blast of cold bathroom air shocked Sam out of his daze. He turned off the water and followed Ichigo, who was drying his hair briskly with a towel, creating a giant shaggy orange mess. Sam dried himself off thoughtfully.
“How much?” Sam finally asked.
“What?” Ichigo peered at himself, trying to get his hair to do something else, pulling it around his face in an uneven orange curtain.
“How much have you thought about it -- us -- this.”
Ichigo looked at Sam in the mirror.
“Whenever I got an email from you. Whenever I didn’t get an email from you. I would dream about you. I would wonder what might happen if I ever saw you again.”
Sam, dumbstruck, gaped at Ichigo.
It’s so unfair that he could think about me that way while I’ve spent the last year or so clamping down on every single thought and corresponding physical reaction so I didn’t feel like a pederast.
All he could muster for a response, however, was a lame-sounding, “Oh.”
Ichigo turned from the sink to look at Sam, gaze serious. “Anything you have planned for me, I want to do to you. I want to know what you feel like everywhere too.”
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Craving Strawberry Surprise