{rated R; sexual content}
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He tastes like blood, is the first thing you notice, when you’re moving your lips over his with something like desperation and teasing your tongue along his jawline. He tastes like blood and ashes and smoke, stained with it like ink, marked with it like the scratch on his discarded hitai-ate.
Your toes clench, unclench, and you moan softly as he moves over you, slowly, patiently. Your skin is hot where it touches his, but his breath is cold, chilly against your neck, where shoulder and back and Curse Seal meet. His hair is surprisingly soft.
This is different.
(just once)
This is something you want.
(I want to know)
He’s something you want.
He enters, and - oh - please-
(yes)
It’s hot, and heavy, and unlike anything you’ve experienced before.
He tastes like blood, like ashes, and the taste of him is still thick on your tongue when you cry out-
“Itachi!”
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[ Anko wakes up in a hot, sweaty tangle of sheets, but more importantly, she is confused. ]
What the...What the fuck???