[Naruto] NejiHina Smut Themes 36-40
Title: NejiHina Smut Themes 36-40
Author: runespoor7
Rating: NC-17
Summary: ninth set of smut.
Notes: if you care about this series at all, you have amaiko to thank for encouraging me to post this.
Warning: There is a lot of dirty-filthy-wrong in this batch, especially 36; 40 and possibly 39 are not particularly healthy-sappy-fluffy either. Incidentally, 36 and 39 are sequels to the Kabuto-related wrongness of 29. Laughter.
36. Humble
With Hinata licking and lapping with marvellous dedication, responding to every change in pressure from Kabuto’s hands threaded in her hair, keeping control becomes a conscious effort.
Her blue-black head is bobbing up and down between his legs, and he feels her tongue dancing an intricate pattern through the warm wetness of her mouth. There’s a tiny frown of concentration between her eyebrows as she wraps her tongue around him, hollowing her cheeks into a long suck that has Kabuto threatening to spill himself into her mouth already.
She lets go with a pop that makes Kabuto want to thrust himself back into her when he tugs slightly on her hair. She looks up at him with snowy eyes.
“Kabuto-san?” she inquires with that accent in her voice that hints at uncertainty and shyness. Kabuto knows this to be a lie; there is never anything shy or uncertain about the way Hinata moves her body for pleasure, no matter the sincerity of the same feelings in other circumstances.
Today, though, her eyes are widened a bit more desperately than she usually pretends to be; her face is paler.
The difference resides in the fact that she has been informed her cousin has been taken prisoner; he’s now in one of the interrogation chambers, waiting for Orochimaru-sama's decision.
A Hyuuga, especially this one, has multiple uses; Orochimaru-sama could choose to use him as a hostage, or to give him to Kabuto for more research on the Byakugan, or to extract every single thread of information about Uzumaki Naruto, Uchiha Sasuke, and the village Orochimaru-sama has never been able to forget.
Kabuto’s fingers curl tighter in Hinata’s hair.
Her cousin.
There must not be many people aware that the bond between Hyuuga Hinata and her father’s nephew is more than the twisted relation dictated by Hyuuga customs. Kabuto is one of them.
It took him longer than it maybe should have to suspect the truth, because Hinata has a way of folding away the things that don’t concern the people talking to her that make her surprisingly slippery to make out, borne of her will not to antagonise anyone. Kabuto needed several weeks to understand the sort of mask she was hiding under, and several more until he was able to start peeling shreds of it away.
He’d never have realised that Hinata’s web of feelings for her cousin threaded through the physical - the purely sensual - if Hinata wasn’t exceptionally susceptible to genjutsu.
And Neji’s attachment never was questionable, even before he so nicely confirmed it to Kabuto, this afternoon.
Kabuto looks into Hinata’s eyes, and doesn’t miss the way that, close to panic or not, she licks her parted lips. It is an invitation Kabuto fully intends on taking advantage of, and he doubts Hinata believes otherwise, but it’s interesting how she keeps on trying making a matter of fact into a weapon.
His right hand slides down to stroke her cheek.
“Did you want to ask me something, Hinata-kun?”
Thick fans of eyelashes bat twice, and her neck arches toward him as she stares up. Kabuto feels a rush of amused affection. He can see clear through every of her calculated moves, when she plays her part of the ingénue, as if she was some helpless victim and not a ninja.
It doesn’t make him find her any less desirable.
Kabuto finds attractive the competent, adaptable perfection with which she plays the part; and he craves the slips of time when the mask breaks and the reactions Hinata fails to control are her own, the dilated, glaring helplessness when her Byakugan activates as she orgasms, the irrepressible trembling in her thighs when Kabuto is lazily drawing circles on her core, the horrified pleading she gives him whenever Kabuto manages to turn her body against her.
Today he can spot that same terror in her look, all the more plain and naked because she is trying so very hard to conceal it. As if she feared she would give Kabuto another thing he could use against her. She doesn’t understand that Kabuto already possesses all the weapons he could need, and that Hinata has lost this battle before she even crawled to Kabuto on her knees and fumbled to engulf him in her mouth, blindly, as if she couldn’t breathe.
It’s this mix of cunning and naivety, the ruthless disregard of the means, however degrading, and clumsy hopefulness for an end that has no chance of coming to pass, that arouses Kabuto most of all.
He smiles benevolently down at her, from behind his glasses. His thumb is following the line of her lower lip.
“Will - will you let me see him?” Hinata whispers.
She only lacks the shine of tears in her eyes; she’s never been able to tear up at will, Kabuto regrets, but she makes a very pretty picture nonetheless.
She wraps her mouth around him again, without taking her eyes away, and tentatively, pensively works her tongue against the head of his cock. Do you see all I could give you, her eyes are saying; I’ll let you do anything, the fear lets slip.
And she would, Kabuto acknowledges.
Hinata puts her honour as a shinobi where it is not so easily plucked, deeper even than any oath of fidelity to blood dynasty or village, and the things that stand as out-of-bounds for Hinata’s ninja way to ignore, Kabuto has no pull against. There is very little Kabuto can do about the Kyuubi vessel, and even less than he is tempted to try. He isn’t sure how Hinata could react.
Her cousin doesn’t stand that far off; not far enough that it matters when they are both prisoners in Sound.
Hinata is sucking him as if she wanted to influence his answer, and Kabuto toys with the idea of making her cry. Surely he’s never seen her this brittle; if he should try now, the chances he’d succeed would be much higher than usual. He’d like to make her cry, really cry, from emotional pain rather than physical hurt. He has already achieved the latter, and the first has always seemed to him much more titillating.
This could be so very fun.
Hinata’s eyelids have scrunched up closed. Her cheeks are now a brilliant red as she devours him.
She isn’t going anywhere, he thinks fuzzily, gaze fixed on her reddening lips.
Neither is her cousin.
Has she ever been as vulnerable, as touching as today?
And-
He will always be their go-between.
His hands convulse slightly on the girl’s skull when her teeth scrape slightly against his erection.
“Once-” Kabuto bites back a moan “-once you are finished, Hinata-kun, you can go see him.”
And then the muscles of Hinata’s throat clench around him, and it’s all Kabuto can do not to come then and there. He pulls on Hinata’s hair to get her to let him go.
“Now, now, Hinata-kun,” he chastises, “is that a way to thank me?”
Hinata’s dazed, dreamy expression clears up, though her skin is still rosy - whether it is from excitment, heat, or shame. In spite of Hinata’s willingness to use amoral tactics, she sometimes gets embarrassed by her body’s genuine reactions.
She crawls up Kabuto lap and kisses him enthusiastically.
His left hand slides down to stroke her hip and her thigh, her ass, barely-covered by her panties. He rubs his fingers against the thin garment, then slips his hand down under the panties, cupping her naked buttock and pulling her closer; she grinds down on him, causing delicious friction, and Kabuto squeezes her faintly to make her stop. Too delicious friction; it would be a shame if everything was over so suddenly.
After all, Hinata has to get him off before she can go see Neji.
“Do you want to, hum...”
She blushes. The colour touches the top of her breasts. Kabuto would be willing to bet the blush is a natural one.
He smiles.
“Fuck you? Yes, I’d like that very much.”
His hand works its way down the front of Hinata’s panties. When he reaches the place between her folds that makes her jolts if he brushes a nail against it, as soaked as if he had been the one using his mouth, he looks in her white eyes and he sees how panicked she is at how much pleasure she feels.
He almost wants to laugh, but he thinks of her and Neji, and, charitably, dislodges her from his lap to remove her panties.
After all, the sooner he comes, the sooner she’ll be telling her cousin what she had to do to be allowed to see him.
37. Crow
She slid down limply on his body, curling around him with a contented sigh. Smiling, Neji loosely wrapped his arm around her. Soon enough, they'd move to go and take a shower, but for now they savoured, sated, the lazy luxury of the sole morning of the week they weren't on a schedule. As a jounin-sensei, Neji's rising hour was crack-of-dawn by default, and Hinata, to be able to juggle between her duties as a clan head and a ninja in Interrogation, had taken to following this rhythm.
Soaking in mid-morning's golden light in the same bed, and knowing they could laze the day away this way if they wished to, was a rare pleasure.
They were basking in the moment when they noticed an insistent tapping on the window.
Mind still blissfully empty of all but the moment's beatitude, Hinata turned her head to look. A black bird was tilting its head at her through the glass.
Her first thought was that it was an urgent message from the Hokage, because what else would require disturbing Neji and her on their day off, and she stood up to fetch the message, pausing a second to stretch languidly - her body drumming approvingly. Neji's grip on her waist tightened, then went lax again, but his eyes didn't open; she'd often go take a shower afterwards.
Luckily the messenger birds were real birds and couldn't speak, Hinata mused as she reached for the window, because the situation in which she and Neji had been-
Her hand froze an inch away from the window.
"Neji-niisan," Hinata began in too calm a tone, "isn't one of your genins learning how to summon crows?..."
"He is, but the ones he has managed to summon can't fly so fa-" the abrupt silence behind her told her that Neji was now staring at the window.
38. Summon
"Well, it seems he was eager to let you know about his progress," Hinata remarked after she had dispatched the bird.
Neji's ice-cold silence was certainly meant to be a reprimand.
"I imagine you must be glad your genins are so devoted to their training," she said.
The temperature in the room dropped a few more degrees.
"I would like to meet them; I have never really had the opportunity to see more of them than a glimpse in passing," she reflected.
There was a suspicious lack of reaction. Hinata turned around to find Neji staring blankly at her.
She smiled, and walked back to the bed. His eyes didn't leave her form, and were mostly focused on her face, though they made incursions down south, more frequent as she got closer to the bed.
"But I'll admit we were lucky it didn't see you were in the bed," she continued. "There's no doubt that your Inuzuka will demand to know why you weren't home tomorrow morning, though."
Neji's lips quirked into a wry smile, and Hinata was reminded of Kiba's hushed confidences regarding his cousin and her opinion of her sensei - Kiba had apparently been bewildered that Neji was still alive. Upon learning more about the Inuzuka's customs and their conflicted feelings toward any sort of authority, but particularly someone who was neither a family member nor the Hokage, Hinata felt she understood better Kiba's unfailing and fanatical respect toward Kurenai-sensei. Yes, Hinata didn't doubt Neji was used to dealing with his Inuzuka by now, even if his weary expression confirmed that he'd be happy not to have to.
He grabbed her wrist, and, without a word, pulled her to him. She kissed him; and he didn't even protest that they'd almost been caught once already when she straddled his hips.
39. Mend
When Hinata opens the door to the interrogation chamber without a creak and Neji sees her, when the only thing she reads on his face is that he knows, when he repeats her name, again and again, in the crook of her neck and Hinata breathes in the scent of his hair - dirty and tainted by a smell she recognises as Kabuto, but underneath, Neji - they are not picking the pieces.
Hinata kisses him with her mouth open and Neji answers hungrily, leaning into her to make up for the fact that the manacles are binding his wrists behind his back and he can’t embrace her the way he’d like to, can’t run his hands down her face and through her hair. If there are tears wetting his cheeks neither seems to notice.
“Hinata-sama...” he breathes into her neck.
Hinata’s heart tightens. Her hand stills on Neji’s hair, in fear that he’ll ask questions she doesn’t want to answer.
“Hinata...” he whispers, in an even softer tone, one that has Hinata’s heart singing and crying all at once. Even Kabuto’s most perfect illusions, genjutsu and henge laced with drugs and her own wishes, couldn’t conjure that exact accent.
She’s never heard it before now. She’s never held Neji this way before now. They’ve never admitted to one another how they felt. Before Hinata was a prisoner, she never even recognised to herself that her feelings for Neji were less conflicted and less confusing than she’d disguised them to herself. It’s only Kabuto’s constant, gentle pressure that shattered the blind walls she’d built. Without him, she’d still be in denial.
The first time she kissed Neji, Kabuto was wearing his guise.
It is disquieting, when Neji’s mouth is working softly against her throat, that the real Neji comes second.
Tilting her head to the side, she unbuttons his shirt. The first three buttons are undone, but she doesn’t think about it; her hands slip under the fabric, up Neji’s chest and around his shoulders, and a shiver breaks over Neji’s skin. He draws in a shuddering breath that tickles Hinata’s neck a moment before he straightens.
“Hinata-sama,” he begins.
Hinata freezes. But it’s less because of what she knows is coming than because of the indentations she feels under her fingertips at the junction of his neck and his shoulder.
Her mind flashes back to Kabuto when he let her go.
Her eyes snap up, and in the moment she meets Neji’s eyes they have already told each other all that has to be said.
She isn’t doing anything, and something is breaking at the back of Neji’s eyes. Breaking, retreating, and spreading in front of her like he’s begging for forgiveness.
She hasn’t seen him for a year, and she wonders if he’s the one who changed so much that she’s able to read him at last, but she suspects that she’s the one who isn’t the same anymore. There is a non-negligible portion of her that has been molded by Kabuto; if not for his use, at least because of him. Or maybe she can understand him because she has finally started to understand herself.
With her thumb, she follows the marks left by Kabuto’s teeth on Neji’s skin, before sliding her hand up, crooking her knuckles against the column of his neck. When she holds Neji’s face between her hands, she leans closer to him, without taking her eyes away from him. His arms are twitching; Hinata is hyper-aware of the way he shifts. Where his hip is touching her, she’s burning.
Slowly, she fits her mouth at the place Kabuto singled out.
It can only be Kabuto, she thinks. It’s a knife in her gut, in the way that Kabuto doesn’t bite. In the way that Hinata frequently leaves such marks exactly in this place. In the way that Neji’s first taste of her was with Kabuto.
Her right hand strokes down Neji’s side, under his shirt, and slips in his pants. Neji jerks when she finds his hardness - either because of Hinata’s nails brushing against and around him, either because this is the moment she selects to nibble gently on the marred flesh of his shoulder.
He sucks in a deep breath as she replaces her teeth by her tongue and slowly rubs her thumb on the tip of his shaft.
“Hin-”
He cuts himself off before he can finish stammering her name, but Hinata lets go of her hold on his neck anyway. She looks up at him with a smile. Her left hand is still playing with strands of his beautiful hair; it’d only need to be combed before it regains the magnificence she remembers so well.
“It’ll be alright,” she assures him.
She doesn’t think she’s lying. If the solemnity in Neji’s gaze is any indication, he doesn’t think so either.
Neji’s hips thrust forward, pushing his cock more fully in her hand. Reflexively, she squeezes, and Neji’s mouth lets out a groan.
Her first experience with Neji is a whim of Kabuto’s, but she and Neji will still make it. And after that, they can have as many times as they want.
40. Container
Neji runs his hands on Hinata’s belly, the soft warm skin shivering under his touch, and daydreams of making it rounder.
There is a Council meeting she has to attend, by the time she puts her clothes on and walk to the Hokage tower she will be late, but Neji can’t bring himself to snatch his palms away.
Hinata’s body feels like it has been made to bear children. She has never looked like a kunoichi, even when she was a child who was just passing the genin test; her curves too full, her articulations too frail. Her breasts are round, nipples hardening when Neji flicks his tongue over them, suckles like a child would, and the thought makes Neji harder than it should.
Hinata’s body has never been suited to a shinobi’s life, except for the kunoichi missions where one’s skill at spreading one’s thighs wide enough and keening pleadingly is more crucial than one’s skill at ninjutsu, and her status as Hyuuga, Main House, often left her disregarded for those missions she’d excel at.
When she’s arching under him, when she redoes her obi carefully before she goes and attend to the village’s elders’ meeting, Neji often doesn’t stop his hands from snaking down her chest, up her hips, and stroke possessively her belly. She doesn’t say anything then, or when he kisses her neck as deliberately as if he was making love to her. When she’s all hidden away under so many layers of lies, he wants to rip them off her.
When she sits in front of officials, listening attentively, speaking softly, when she is called away for some missions or urgent Intelligence and Interrogation matters, Neji thinks of his semen still inside her, and dreams of making her full with his child. Imagining Hinata heavily pregnant (weighed down, unable to reach her feet with her fingers for all her Jyuuken training, forced to depend on him) keeps him company while she’s gone.
He sees her in his mind, careful to avoid any danger of hurting the child; stopping in the middle of a gesture to put a surprised hand on the round mount; breasts heaving more than usual, hips swaying at a slow rhythm, belly screaming how much of a woman Hinata is.
Of course Neji would be by her side at all times, to help her along, and he can’t decide if it would be more satisfying if everyone already knew the child (and Hinata) were his, or more amusing to witness how everyone’s gaze would be riveted to her and how everyone would torture their minds over who it was.
He sees her, her pale wrists tied to the headstand, on her knees, in the naked glory of a woman carrying the world inside her gut.
She’d be more his, more surely his, than she has ever been.
During such daydreams, Neji muses that if he had it his way, Hinata would always be pregnant.
But he knows that it cannot ever be, and he feels himself tearing over who or what he should resent the most for it, Kabuto’s experiments or the Main House that still needs to be killed off, disappearing without an heir.
Still, from times to times, he lets his palms wander on Hinata’s stomach when they’re fucking, even if he knows he will find it disappointingly flat.
Author: runespoor7
Rating: NC-17
Summary: ninth set of smut.
Notes: if you care about this series at all, you have amaiko to thank for encouraging me to post this.
Warning: There is a lot of dirty-filthy-wrong in this batch, especially 36; 40 and possibly 39 are not particularly healthy-sappy-fluffy either. Incidentally, 36 and 39 are sequels to the Kabuto-related wrongness of 29. Laughter.
36. Humble
With Hinata licking and lapping with marvellous dedication, responding to every change in pressure from Kabuto’s hands threaded in her hair, keeping control becomes a conscious effort.
Her blue-black head is bobbing up and down between his legs, and he feels her tongue dancing an intricate pattern through the warm wetness of her mouth. There’s a tiny frown of concentration between her eyebrows as she wraps her tongue around him, hollowing her cheeks into a long suck that has Kabuto threatening to spill himself into her mouth already.
She lets go with a pop that makes Kabuto want to thrust himself back into her when he tugs slightly on her hair. She looks up at him with snowy eyes.
“Kabuto-san?” she inquires with that accent in her voice that hints at uncertainty and shyness. Kabuto knows this to be a lie; there is never anything shy or uncertain about the way Hinata moves her body for pleasure, no matter the sincerity of the same feelings in other circumstances.
Today, though, her eyes are widened a bit more desperately than she usually pretends to be; her face is paler.
The difference resides in the fact that she has been informed her cousin has been taken prisoner; he’s now in one of the interrogation chambers, waiting for Orochimaru-sama's decision.
A Hyuuga, especially this one, has multiple uses; Orochimaru-sama could choose to use him as a hostage, or to give him to Kabuto for more research on the Byakugan, or to extract every single thread of information about Uzumaki Naruto, Uchiha Sasuke, and the village Orochimaru-sama has never been able to forget.
Kabuto’s fingers curl tighter in Hinata’s hair.
Her cousin.
There must not be many people aware that the bond between Hyuuga Hinata and her father’s nephew is more than the twisted relation dictated by Hyuuga customs. Kabuto is one of them.
It took him longer than it maybe should have to suspect the truth, because Hinata has a way of folding away the things that don’t concern the people talking to her that make her surprisingly slippery to make out, borne of her will not to antagonise anyone. Kabuto needed several weeks to understand the sort of mask she was hiding under, and several more until he was able to start peeling shreds of it away.
He’d never have realised that Hinata’s web of feelings for her cousin threaded through the physical - the purely sensual - if Hinata wasn’t exceptionally susceptible to genjutsu.
And Neji’s attachment never was questionable, even before he so nicely confirmed it to Kabuto, this afternoon.
Kabuto looks into Hinata’s eyes, and doesn’t miss the way that, close to panic or not, she licks her parted lips. It is an invitation Kabuto fully intends on taking advantage of, and he doubts Hinata believes otherwise, but it’s interesting how she keeps on trying making a matter of fact into a weapon.
His right hand slides down to stroke her cheek.
“Did you want to ask me something, Hinata-kun?”
Thick fans of eyelashes bat twice, and her neck arches toward him as she stares up. Kabuto feels a rush of amused affection. He can see clear through every of her calculated moves, when she plays her part of the ingénue, as if she was some helpless victim and not a ninja.
It doesn’t make him find her any less desirable.
Kabuto finds attractive the competent, adaptable perfection with which she plays the part; and he craves the slips of time when the mask breaks and the reactions Hinata fails to control are her own, the dilated, glaring helplessness when her Byakugan activates as she orgasms, the irrepressible trembling in her thighs when Kabuto is lazily drawing circles on her core, the horrified pleading she gives him whenever Kabuto manages to turn her body against her.
Today he can spot that same terror in her look, all the more plain and naked because she is trying so very hard to conceal it. As if she feared she would give Kabuto another thing he could use against her. She doesn’t understand that Kabuto already possesses all the weapons he could need, and that Hinata has lost this battle before she even crawled to Kabuto on her knees and fumbled to engulf him in her mouth, blindly, as if she couldn’t breathe.
It’s this mix of cunning and naivety, the ruthless disregard of the means, however degrading, and clumsy hopefulness for an end that has no chance of coming to pass, that arouses Kabuto most of all.
He smiles benevolently down at her, from behind his glasses. His thumb is following the line of her lower lip.
“Will - will you let me see him?” Hinata whispers.
She only lacks the shine of tears in her eyes; she’s never been able to tear up at will, Kabuto regrets, but she makes a very pretty picture nonetheless.
She wraps her mouth around him again, without taking her eyes away, and tentatively, pensively works her tongue against the head of his cock. Do you see all I could give you, her eyes are saying; I’ll let you do anything, the fear lets slip.
And she would, Kabuto acknowledges.
Hinata puts her honour as a shinobi where it is not so easily plucked, deeper even than any oath of fidelity to blood dynasty or village, and the things that stand as out-of-bounds for Hinata’s ninja way to ignore, Kabuto has no pull against. There is very little Kabuto can do about the Kyuubi vessel, and even less than he is tempted to try. He isn’t sure how Hinata could react.
Her cousin doesn’t stand that far off; not far enough that it matters when they are both prisoners in Sound.
Hinata is sucking him as if she wanted to influence his answer, and Kabuto toys with the idea of making her cry. Surely he’s never seen her this brittle; if he should try now, the chances he’d succeed would be much higher than usual. He’d like to make her cry, really cry, from emotional pain rather than physical hurt. He has already achieved the latter, and the first has always seemed to him much more titillating.
This could be so very fun.
Hinata’s eyelids have scrunched up closed. Her cheeks are now a brilliant red as she devours him.
She isn’t going anywhere, he thinks fuzzily, gaze fixed on her reddening lips.
Neither is her cousin.
Has she ever been as vulnerable, as touching as today?
And-
He will always be their go-between.
His hands convulse slightly on the girl’s skull when her teeth scrape slightly against his erection.
“Once-” Kabuto bites back a moan “-once you are finished, Hinata-kun, you can go see him.”
And then the muscles of Hinata’s throat clench around him, and it’s all Kabuto can do not to come then and there. He pulls on Hinata’s hair to get her to let him go.
“Now, now, Hinata-kun,” he chastises, “is that a way to thank me?”
Hinata’s dazed, dreamy expression clears up, though her skin is still rosy - whether it is from excitment, heat, or shame. In spite of Hinata’s willingness to use amoral tactics, she sometimes gets embarrassed by her body’s genuine reactions.
She crawls up Kabuto lap and kisses him enthusiastically.
His left hand slides down to stroke her hip and her thigh, her ass, barely-covered by her panties. He rubs his fingers against the thin garment, then slips his hand down under the panties, cupping her naked buttock and pulling her closer; she grinds down on him, causing delicious friction, and Kabuto squeezes her faintly to make her stop. Too delicious friction; it would be a shame if everything was over so suddenly.
After all, Hinata has to get him off before she can go see Neji.
“Do you want to, hum...”
She blushes. The colour touches the top of her breasts. Kabuto would be willing to bet the blush is a natural one.
He smiles.
“Fuck you? Yes, I’d like that very much.”
His hand works its way down the front of Hinata’s panties. When he reaches the place between her folds that makes her jolts if he brushes a nail against it, as soaked as if he had been the one using his mouth, he looks in her white eyes and he sees how panicked she is at how much pleasure she feels.
He almost wants to laugh, but he thinks of her and Neji, and, charitably, dislodges her from his lap to remove her panties.
After all, the sooner he comes, the sooner she’ll be telling her cousin what she had to do to be allowed to see him.
37. Crow
She slid down limply on his body, curling around him with a contented sigh. Smiling, Neji loosely wrapped his arm around her. Soon enough, they'd move to go and take a shower, but for now they savoured, sated, the lazy luxury of the sole morning of the week they weren't on a schedule. As a jounin-sensei, Neji's rising hour was crack-of-dawn by default, and Hinata, to be able to juggle between her duties as a clan head and a ninja in Interrogation, had taken to following this rhythm.
Soaking in mid-morning's golden light in the same bed, and knowing they could laze the day away this way if they wished to, was a rare pleasure.
They were basking in the moment when they noticed an insistent tapping on the window.
Mind still blissfully empty of all but the moment's beatitude, Hinata turned her head to look. A black bird was tilting its head at her through the glass.
Her first thought was that it was an urgent message from the Hokage, because what else would require disturbing Neji and her on their day off, and she stood up to fetch the message, pausing a second to stretch languidly - her body drumming approvingly. Neji's grip on her waist tightened, then went lax again, but his eyes didn't open; she'd often go take a shower afterwards.
Luckily the messenger birds were real birds and couldn't speak, Hinata mused as she reached for the window, because the situation in which she and Neji had been-
Her hand froze an inch away from the window.
"Neji-niisan," Hinata began in too calm a tone, "isn't one of your genins learning how to summon crows?..."
"He is, but the ones he has managed to summon can't fly so fa-" the abrupt silence behind her told her that Neji was now staring at the window.
38. Summon
"Well, it seems he was eager to let you know about his progress," Hinata remarked after she had dispatched the bird.
Neji's ice-cold silence was certainly meant to be a reprimand.
"I imagine you must be glad your genins are so devoted to their training," she said.
The temperature in the room dropped a few more degrees.
"I would like to meet them; I have never really had the opportunity to see more of them than a glimpse in passing," she reflected.
There was a suspicious lack of reaction. Hinata turned around to find Neji staring blankly at her.
She smiled, and walked back to the bed. His eyes didn't leave her form, and were mostly focused on her face, though they made incursions down south, more frequent as she got closer to the bed.
"But I'll admit we were lucky it didn't see you were in the bed," she continued. "There's no doubt that your Inuzuka will demand to know why you weren't home tomorrow morning, though."
Neji's lips quirked into a wry smile, and Hinata was reminded of Kiba's hushed confidences regarding his cousin and her opinion of her sensei - Kiba had apparently been bewildered that Neji was still alive. Upon learning more about the Inuzuka's customs and their conflicted feelings toward any sort of authority, but particularly someone who was neither a family member nor the Hokage, Hinata felt she understood better Kiba's unfailing and fanatical respect toward Kurenai-sensei. Yes, Hinata didn't doubt Neji was used to dealing with his Inuzuka by now, even if his weary expression confirmed that he'd be happy not to have to.
He grabbed her wrist, and, without a word, pulled her to him. She kissed him; and he didn't even protest that they'd almost been caught once already when she straddled his hips.
39. Mend
When Hinata opens the door to the interrogation chamber without a creak and Neji sees her, when the only thing she reads on his face is that he knows, when he repeats her name, again and again, in the crook of her neck and Hinata breathes in the scent of his hair - dirty and tainted by a smell she recognises as Kabuto, but underneath, Neji - they are not picking the pieces.
Hinata kisses him with her mouth open and Neji answers hungrily, leaning into her to make up for the fact that the manacles are binding his wrists behind his back and he can’t embrace her the way he’d like to, can’t run his hands down her face and through her hair. If there are tears wetting his cheeks neither seems to notice.
“Hinata-sama...” he breathes into her neck.
Hinata’s heart tightens. Her hand stills on Neji’s hair, in fear that he’ll ask questions she doesn’t want to answer.
“Hinata...” he whispers, in an even softer tone, one that has Hinata’s heart singing and crying all at once. Even Kabuto’s most perfect illusions, genjutsu and henge laced with drugs and her own wishes, couldn’t conjure that exact accent.
She’s never heard it before now. She’s never held Neji this way before now. They’ve never admitted to one another how they felt. Before Hinata was a prisoner, she never even recognised to herself that her feelings for Neji were less conflicted and less confusing than she’d disguised them to herself. It’s only Kabuto’s constant, gentle pressure that shattered the blind walls she’d built. Without him, she’d still be in denial.
The first time she kissed Neji, Kabuto was wearing his guise.
It is disquieting, when Neji’s mouth is working softly against her throat, that the real Neji comes second.
Tilting her head to the side, she unbuttons his shirt. The first three buttons are undone, but she doesn’t think about it; her hands slip under the fabric, up Neji’s chest and around his shoulders, and a shiver breaks over Neji’s skin. He draws in a shuddering breath that tickles Hinata’s neck a moment before he straightens.
“Hinata-sama,” he begins.
Hinata freezes. But it’s less because of what she knows is coming than because of the indentations she feels under her fingertips at the junction of his neck and his shoulder.
Her mind flashes back to Kabuto when he let her go.
Her eyes snap up, and in the moment she meets Neji’s eyes they have already told each other all that has to be said.
She isn’t doing anything, and something is breaking at the back of Neji’s eyes. Breaking, retreating, and spreading in front of her like he’s begging for forgiveness.
She hasn’t seen him for a year, and she wonders if he’s the one who changed so much that she’s able to read him at last, but she suspects that she’s the one who isn’t the same anymore. There is a non-negligible portion of her that has been molded by Kabuto; if not for his use, at least because of him. Or maybe she can understand him because she has finally started to understand herself.
With her thumb, she follows the marks left by Kabuto’s teeth on Neji’s skin, before sliding her hand up, crooking her knuckles against the column of his neck. When she holds Neji’s face between her hands, she leans closer to him, without taking her eyes away from him. His arms are twitching; Hinata is hyper-aware of the way he shifts. Where his hip is touching her, she’s burning.
Slowly, she fits her mouth at the place Kabuto singled out.
It can only be Kabuto, she thinks. It’s a knife in her gut, in the way that Kabuto doesn’t bite. In the way that Hinata frequently leaves such marks exactly in this place. In the way that Neji’s first taste of her was with Kabuto.
Her right hand strokes down Neji’s side, under his shirt, and slips in his pants. Neji jerks when she finds his hardness - either because of Hinata’s nails brushing against and around him, either because this is the moment she selects to nibble gently on the marred flesh of his shoulder.
He sucks in a deep breath as she replaces her teeth by her tongue and slowly rubs her thumb on the tip of his shaft.
“Hin-”
He cuts himself off before he can finish stammering her name, but Hinata lets go of her hold on his neck anyway. She looks up at him with a smile. Her left hand is still playing with strands of his beautiful hair; it’d only need to be combed before it regains the magnificence she remembers so well.
“It’ll be alright,” she assures him.
She doesn’t think she’s lying. If the solemnity in Neji’s gaze is any indication, he doesn’t think so either.
Neji’s hips thrust forward, pushing his cock more fully in her hand. Reflexively, she squeezes, and Neji’s mouth lets out a groan.
Her first experience with Neji is a whim of Kabuto’s, but she and Neji will still make it. And after that, they can have as many times as they want.
40. Container
Neji runs his hands on Hinata’s belly, the soft warm skin shivering under his touch, and daydreams of making it rounder.
There is a Council meeting she has to attend, by the time she puts her clothes on and walk to the Hokage tower she will be late, but Neji can’t bring himself to snatch his palms away.
Hinata’s body feels like it has been made to bear children. She has never looked like a kunoichi, even when she was a child who was just passing the genin test; her curves too full, her articulations too frail. Her breasts are round, nipples hardening when Neji flicks his tongue over them, suckles like a child would, and the thought makes Neji harder than it should.
Hinata’s body has never been suited to a shinobi’s life, except for the kunoichi missions where one’s skill at spreading one’s thighs wide enough and keening pleadingly is more crucial than one’s skill at ninjutsu, and her status as Hyuuga, Main House, often left her disregarded for those missions she’d excel at.
When she’s arching under him, when she redoes her obi carefully before she goes and attend to the village’s elders’ meeting, Neji often doesn’t stop his hands from snaking down her chest, up her hips, and stroke possessively her belly. She doesn’t say anything then, or when he kisses her neck as deliberately as if he was making love to her. When she’s all hidden away under so many layers of lies, he wants to rip them off her.
When she sits in front of officials, listening attentively, speaking softly, when she is called away for some missions or urgent Intelligence and Interrogation matters, Neji thinks of his semen still inside her, and dreams of making her full with his child. Imagining Hinata heavily pregnant (weighed down, unable to reach her feet with her fingers for all her Jyuuken training, forced to depend on him) keeps him company while she’s gone.
He sees her in his mind, careful to avoid any danger of hurting the child; stopping in the middle of a gesture to put a surprised hand on the round mount; breasts heaving more than usual, hips swaying at a slow rhythm, belly screaming how much of a woman Hinata is.
Of course Neji would be by her side at all times, to help her along, and he can’t decide if it would be more satisfying if everyone already knew the child (and Hinata) were his, or more amusing to witness how everyone’s gaze would be riveted to her and how everyone would torture their minds over who it was.
He sees her, her pale wrists tied to the headstand, on her knees, in the naked glory of a woman carrying the world inside her gut.
She’d be more his, more surely his, than she has ever been.
During such daydreams, Neji muses that if he had it his way, Hinata would always be pregnant.
But he knows that it cannot ever be, and he feels himself tearing over who or what he should resent the most for it, Kabuto’s experiments or the Main House that still needs to be killed off, disappearing without an heir.
Still, from times to times, he lets his palms wander on Hinata’s stomach when they’re fucking, even if he knows he will find it disappointingly flat.