It isn't the easiest position to learn. Ichigo's back is curved where he leans over Rukia's lap, and her neck is craned to respond to the angle, the tangle of their limbs at once comfortable and not. She doesn't break the kiss for a few seconds, nudging at Ichigo's lips tentatively, as though mapping out the curve — but once done, lays her palms on either one of his cheeks to anchor him in place while she pulls back a couple of inches, huffing as she maneuvers, legs swinging to the side and feet quickly tucked underneath her. With her weight pushed further onto her knees, Rukia leans back in again, taking given permission and kissing him back more insistently, soft lips mapping out the contours of his chapped ones before she lets slip a bated breath.

The motions are easy. It's the sentiment that takes longer to unwind, an uncomfortable tightness in Rukia's chest that's only relaxed now, like this, with her palms smoothing down the sides of his neck and along the collarbone before sweeping over the broad span of his chest, memorizing every detail. The contrast of his tan skin against her pale complexion, fingertips brushing against places where scars were once. He's warmer than she is, worry slightly damp along his hairline; the shock of it sends a slight shiver down her spine.