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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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When the world started to make sense again, Sam was flat on his back, staring at the ceiling, legs and arms splayed off either side of the futon. His chest heaved as he caught his breath. He heard coughing and spitting and leaned up on his elbows to look at Ichigo.
Ichigo knelt between Sam’s thighs, face scarlet. He repeatedly cleared his throat, spat, and wiped his mouth with the discarded towel, massaging the side of his jaw with his fingers and wincing a little. He swiped his forearm across his watering eyes.
“Sorry,” Sam gasped. “I guess I should’ve given you some warning.”
“It’s not like I couldn’t tell. We’re both guys. I wanted to know what you tasted like anyway.” Sam could tell Ichigo was trying to be casual, but he also seemed a little shocked. “It was just more intense than I thought it would be.”
Ichigo lay down next to Sam on the futon, leg over Sam’s thigh, not quite nestling into his side.
“Which part?” Sam asked, looking down at the top of Ichigo’s head, resting on his shoulder. Ichigo tilted his face up, meeting Sam’s gaze, brows furrowed.
“What?”
“Which part was more intense than you thought it would be? The size? The taste? The volume? The force?” Sam grinned. “The size?”
Ichigo’s face stayed crimson and he scowled at Sam, who grinned even more widely.
In some ways, Ichigo reminded him a little of Dean. Not in any weird ways, but there were some prickly aspects to the both of them that Sam found comfortingly familiar, quirks he could deal with.
Getting to know Ichigo through email over the past two years gave him a certain level of insight into Ichigo’s personality. But it gave him very little to go on when it came to this situation. Sam was familiar with Ichigo’s discomfort with overt flirtation, his first instinct to hit at whatever made him angry, and his unwillingness to show weakness. He didn’t know if part of Ichigo’s diffidence was an intense fear of losing the people closest to him. Maybe it was cultural, or due to a lack of experience. Or Ichigo not being sure of Sam and the situation. Or all of the above.
Probably all of the above.
In a similar vein, Dean was manifestly reticent about openly showing affection. Sam knew that for him it was a definitely a question of protecting himself. Dean’s fear of losing the people close to him was intense; it was the coiled energy that drove him to protect everyone, especially his loved ones. When you were never sure who was going to die on you, getting too attached to anyone was unwise.
Even if he could deal with and understand the reasons Dean and Ichigo were physically or emotionally standoffish, Sam was an unabashed cuddler. Liking the way Ichigo felt next to him, Sam pulled him a little closer. Ichigo was just going to have to put up with it until Sam left.
Ichigo didn’t seem to mind, however, letting himself be drawn against Sam’s side.
“What do I taste like?”
“Acidic, bitter, and kind of salty.”
“So not very tasty at all.”
“Fushigi-na aji-dane,”* Ichigo snickered at Sam, although he could see the nervousness it masked. Sam wondered if Ichigo would always lapse into Japanese whenever he felt too exposed.
“Not really,” Ichigo clarified, smirk firmly in place.
“Oh, and I’m sure you taste like cotton candy,” Sam rolled Ichigo onto his back, pulling him to the middle of the futon, and pinned his wrists above his head, knees on either side of Ichigo’s hips.
Ichigo, naturally, put up a fight at Sam’s surprise attack, but Sam had the size advantage. “If you’re going to be provoking, you should be prepared for some retaliation,” he said, grinning down at Ichigo. He liked the feeling of Ichigo pinned beneath him, pushing against his hold. He liked the friction of Ichigo’s skin on the inside of his thighs, slippery with sweat, as he tried to throw Sam off. The thought of how Ichigo’s legs would feel wrapped around his waist, muscles tense with exertion, made his breath hitch.
“What are you struggling for? I promise you’ll enjoy this.”
Ichigo bared his teeth in a mutinous snarl, eyes blazing.
“Let me go, dammit,” he snapped.
“In a minute,” Sam responded in a singsong voice. Holding Ichigo’s wrists easily in one hand, he reached between their bodies to Ichigo’s dick and balls, cupping them gently. They were hot and a little sticky in his palm, and he stroked the side of Ichigo’s flaccid cock gently with his thumb, moving the foreskin slightly. Ichigo gasped and closed his eyes, suddenly pliant, hips straining upwards.
“If I let go of you, will you behave?” Sam asked quietly.
“Hai,” Ichigo whispered, not opening his eyes. “Yes. I will.”
Ichigo’s sudden submission was definitely unlike him. Or what Sam knew of him. The idea that he could draw such a reaction out of Ichigo was a serious turn-on. Was this how Ichigo showed his trust in Sam?
Sam didn’t think for a minute that this was a lasting capitulation. Sam was sure this submission, whatever its source, wouldn't last very long. Ichigo was too impatient, too accustomed to being in control himself to relinquish it for more than a few minutes
But Sam would take it at face value. He would take it and run.
“Because otherwise I’ll have to stop what I'm doing, and I don’t think you want that, do you?” This was a totally empty threat, there was no way Sam was going to stop, not now, not while he could feel Ichigo’s cock grow hard under his hand. Ichigo didn’t have to know that, though.
Ichigo shook his head, mumuring, “Ie.”
Sam released Ichigo’s wrists and his arms stayed in that position, crossed above his head, resting on the futon. He brushed his lips across Ichigo’s collarbone, tasting the sweat pooled in the hollow of his throat. It stung his lips, dry from air travel and friction, and crept to the corners of his mouth. Sam tasted the sea as he licked Ichigo’s sweat from his lips and drew a wet line with the tip of his tongue to the middle of Ichigo’s sternum. Ichigo lay very still, breathing quickly.
Sam moved his mouth to one of Ichigo’s nipples. It was a flat disk, smoother than the surrounding skin until Sam swirled his tongue roughly around it. The sweaty ends of Sam’s hair trailed across Ichigo’s skin leaving goosebumps in its wake, smaller than the tiny hot nub of flesh Sam held gently in his teeth. Ichigo moaned softly on every exhale, body undulating feverishly against Sam wherever they touched, distracting and enticing.
Sam had to pause for a minute to catch his breath and gather his thoughts. He needed to slow down, but it was hard. He hadn’t expected Ichigo to be so responsive or willing. He rested his forehead on Ichigo’s breastbone, inhaling his scent, taking deep, slow breaths. Ichigo stopped moving when Sam did.
“Sam?” Ichigo’s voice came tentatively from above.
“I’m okay,” Sam said quickly. “Just needed a minute. You’re, um,” he cleared his throat. “It’s difficult to hold myself back.”
Silence. Then, “Why?”
A tumult of words clamored to be the first out of Sam’s mouth. He clenched his teeth to stop them from tumbling out in an embarrassing series of confessions. Instead he went for the obvious, what was in front of him. Which was still the truth, just not all of it.
“Because you’re hot, you’re here, you want me to do this, and I want to make it good for you.” Sam nipped Ichigo’s skin lightly, eliciting a surprised yelp. “Now be quiet and let me work. Or I really will stop.”
Ichigo grumbled slightly at being told what to do, but subsided quickly as Sam gave his other nipple the same treatment. When he was done, both were hard and small and flushed, obvious even in the semi-dark of the room, and Ichigo was panting and moving restlessly under Sam again.
Sam gently placed open-mouthed kisses on Ichigo’s skin as he traveled down his torso. Ichigo kept catching his breath, his skin jumping in reaction to the unfamiliar stimulation, small gasps escaping him. He threaded his fingers into Sam’s hair, awkwardly stroking his scalp with his fingertips. Sam reached up and found Ichigo’s other hand, lacing their fingers together, trying to ground him. Ichigo clutched them.
Sam felt the contrast between the ridges that were muscles and the smooth lines that were scars, tracing them with his tongue, until he reached the trail of hair below Ichigo’s navel.
“I’ll be damned,” Sam said, faking amazement. “That really is your natural hair color.”
Ichigo kicked him in the ribs.
“Careful. I’m going to have your cock in my mouth in a minute.”
“At least you’ll be quiet then,” Ichigo muttered grouchily, surprising a quiet laugh out of Sam.
As part of his whole “slowing down” strategy, Sam bypassed the obvious temptation of Ichigo’s cock to explore further down. He spread Ichigo’s thighs wide, fingers splayed on his skin, so he could lick down the hip-cut to his balls. Ichigo grunted sharply as Sam’s tongue stroked around them carefully, noting their weight and movement, how cool they were in contrast to the heat of his mouth, the coarse crinkling of Ichigo’s pubic hair against his lips.
“Kudasai, Sam,” Ichigo whispered, trying to push his cock against any surface Sam offered. “Kudasai.”**
Sam finally moved up to Ichigo’s dick. It rose from the foreskin, slick and redder than the surrounding flesh. Sam traced the tip of his tongue just under the edge of that sleeve of skin up to the underside of the head of his cock. There was no rough spot just under the head for him to drag his tongue across, like there would be on a cut guy, so Sam had to content himself with just circling the ridge of the crown. Ichigo made a surprised sound and his hips twitched, but he didn’t try to drive himself further into Sam’s mouth.
“It’s been a while since I’ve done this,” Sam murmured. “You have to let me know if I’m too rough.”
“I can take it,” Ichigo replied matter-of-factly. Sam looked up at Ichigo, who still had his eyes closed.
“I don’t want you to just take it, Ichigo,” Sam replied, annoyed. “I want you to enjoy it. If I suspect for a minute you’re just putting up with what I’m doing, I’ll stop. So you’re going to have to open your mouth and give me some feedback.”
“Hai, Winchester-sensei,” Ichigo muttered sarcastically.
“Oh, you can call me that whenever you want,” Sam smiled. “I like how it sounds when you say it.”
“Ecchi,”*** Ichigo said. “I thought you were getting back to work.”
Sam snorted. But it was true, he could do better things right now with his mouth than banter with Ichigo.
Ichigo was neither as long nor as thick as Sam, and Sam’s mouth was bigger. Sam was also just more experienced at giving blowjobs, so he was able to swallow Ichigo down in one glorious motion, bumping the tip of his nose on Ichigo’s stomach.
Ichigo gulped and jerked, one hand squeezing Sam’s fingers painfully, the other gripping his hair. He moaned as Sam slowly drew his mouth up Ichigo’s shaft, leaving it liberally slathered with spit. Sam went down again in a similarly leisurely fashion, getting a feel for Ichigo’s responses.
Ichigo let go of Sam’s hair to flail around and grab the pillow. He clamped it over his face to muffle astonished-sounding cries as Sam relentlessly sucked him off. Sam tried to stay with Ichigo, taking his cue to move faster from the way Ichigo’s hips undulated, reflexively thrusting his cock into Sam’s mouth. He wasn’t worried all that much about gagging, Ichigo simply wasn’t long enough for it, not in this position anyway. He was worried about his teeth, so he covered them with his lips as much as he could so Ichigo’s frantic bucking wouldn’t get him snagged on them.
He felt Ichigo’s feet brace on either side of him, one heel pressing into his upper thigh, the other behind him against his ass. His spit ran down Ichigo’s balls and further back, which was exactly what Sam intended. He ran his fingers across the perineum and rubbed the saliva around Ichigo’s anus, causing another shuddering recoil.
“Hey, Ichigo.” Ichigo looked at Sam over the edge of the pillow, eyes dark and somewhat vague. “Can I put a finger inside you?” After a long moment, Ichigo nodded slowly.
“Just relax. If you want me to stop, tell me, and I will,” Sam said.
Ichigo lifted the pillow up long enough to snap, “Just shut up and do it.”
“So touchy,” Sam murmured, smiling. He slid Ichigo’s dick back into his mouth, gently inching down it, playing his tongue along the slippery skin until Ichigo tossed his hips, distracted from anything else Sam might have planned.
Sam’s index finger glided back behind Ichigo’s balls and circled soft, wrinkled skin, easing it open at the center. He slipped his finger inside in slow increments, letting Ichigo’s shudders of adjustment guide him. He was so tight, so completely untried, that Sam wondered if he would be able to get his cock inside Ichigo without hurting him. If that was the direction they went in.
Jesus, how hot and smooth Ichigo was inside once Sam moved past his entrance. The sleek clamping of his muscles around Sam’s finger was breathtaking. The potential effect it might have on his dick was hard to ignore.
Sam managed to get in up to his last knuckle, although spit wasn’t the best lubricant for what he was doing. He drew his finger out slowly, and added his middle finger, stretching Ichigo a little wider, cradling Ichigo’s balls in his palm. Ichigo lay still, breathing rapidly, pillow dropped to the side, obviously making himself relax.
Sam felt tremors through Ichigo’s hand on the back of his head, and knew that what he was doing was good. His tiny rocking motions up and down Sam’s fingers and his choked little moans probably meant he wasn’t in pain. Sam had to check anyway.
“Okay?” Sam asked again. Ichigo looked down at him. He seemed to be having trouble remembering language.
“Hai,” he finally breathed. “D-don’t stop.”
Sam smiled. “Wasn’t planning to,” he said. “I want to make absolutely certain that you don’t taste like cotton candy.” Ichigo made a disgusted noise and Sam chuckled.
He stilled his fingers and reapplied himself to Ichigo’s neglected blowjob. He moved his mouth up and down Ichigo’s dick, adding his hand to the slippery length, careful with the motion of the foreskin. He bent his fingers inside Ichigo, rubbing against his inner walls, stretching him a little, getting him used to the sensation of being filled. Ichigo groaned through his teeth, moving with Sam’s mouth, shoving himself down onto Sam’s fingers.
Then Sam found the spot he was looking for and pushed his fingertips gently, but with increasing pressure, against it.
“Kuso!” Ichigo shouted, completely forgetting the noise restriction. He arced right off the futon, thrusting quickly and in and out of Sam’s mouth as he held Sam’s head still by the hair. Sam felt the hot grip of Ichigo’s inner muscles as his balls drew up tight and he came. Ichigo threw his arm over his face to muffle his voice, breaking on the syllables of Sam’s name in gasps and stutters. “S-Sa-am! Sam! Ah, Sam!"
Sam liked the sound of that a lot.
He felt the pulses of Ichigo’s dick against his lips, tasting the hot salty spurts of come as he heard Ichigo trying and failing to keep his voice down. God, he wanted more of that, so much more. He wanted to make Ichigo scream. They had to get somewhere where he could do that.
Sam stayed with Ichigo as he sank down onto the futon, hand falling off Sam’s head to grip the bedclothes. He held Ichigo in his mouth until he softened, simply unwilling to let go, and let the pressure of Ichigo’s muscles push out his fingers.
Sam looked around for the much-abused towel. He spat into it, and then wiped off his mouth and hand. Ichigo lay there breathless, glistening with sweat, his eyes closed. His expression was, for once, not guarded or angry. Sam thought he looked beautifully sated and unself-conscious, and it was a good look for him.
Sam grabbed the pillow and put it under his head as he collapsed, completely wrung out, next to Ichigo. He had to lay on his side, because Ichigo was hogging the futon, which was a miracle in itself, given that he was smaller than Sam. He splayed impressively across the majority of it.
Ichigo turned his head, expression curious. “Oishikatta desu ka?”**** he asked.
“You need to quit that if you expect me to answer your questions,” Sam said with weary humor.
Ichigo shook his head, giving Sam an irritated look, and took a deep breath.
“Do I taste good?” Ichigo translated.
“You taste like salty bleach,” Sam replied. “And pretzels. And something else I haven’t figured out yet. But I like it.”
Ichigo frowned, and then snorted ruefully. He picked up Sam’s hand, regarding the fingers speculatively. Two of them were hotter than the others, and Ichigo rubbed his thumb across them. Sam gasped, surprised at their hypersensitivity. Ichigo glanced up at him, nonplussed, then back down.
“I guess you can use something other than fingers,” Ichigo said, not exactly making it a question.
“I can. I have. Do you want to?”
Ichigo’s gaze trailed down Sam’s body, fastening again on his dick, quiet now against Sam’s thigh. A thoroughly lascivious smile spread over his face, and Sam was taken aback at Ichigo’s unembarrassed interest.
“I think I would,” he said, looking back up at Sam, smile still voracious. Ichigo looked like he wanted to eat Sam, just devour him, and that was simultaneously unsettling and really fucking hot. How would he do it? Sam wondered. He knew what he wanted to do if he was allowed to have his way with Ichigo. Did Ichigo have things he wanted to do as well? Now that Ichigo had the opening, would he take it?
“Well, we can’t do it here,” Sam said. “I’m pretty sure there’s no way we could be quiet if I fucked you.”
**
*"It's an unusual taste,"

** "Please, Sam," "Please."

*** "Pervert,"

**** "Was it delicious?" or "Did it taste good?"
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Craving Strawberry Surprise