Fic: Uninvited (Kakashi/Sasuke)
Title: Uninvited
Fandom: Naruto
Pairing: Kakashi/Sasuke
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 8962
Summary(ish?): There's only so much Kakashi can take before he gives in.
Because experimentation is not just for the bedroom, but for writing as well! Tackling both 2nd person POV and angst was probably not the smartest thing I could have done. It was difficult, I struggled, I constantly rewrote/revised/edited, and upon finishing I loathed it.
Looking back, almost a year later, was it worth it? Abso-fucking-lutely yes.
Mama's proud.
The rustling is both incessant and distracting; a perfect time to open your eyes. Not that you were waiting for an excuse.
Lids slit open just enough to peer out of, to take in the bare foot whispering against sheets, the delicate fingers clutching at the top of a pillow, and your navy blankets piled high over a shoulder. The gentle rocking of bedsprings is almost lulling and the dips in the mattress are subtle. Your neighbor is careful when shifting his body, every move calculated, precise. Indistinguishable to a sleeping man. But, oh, you aren't sleeping.
You are tired, of course.
Simply not tired enough to ignore the fact that Sasuke is in your bed. Silent, recluse, adult Sasuke is curled up on his side scant inches away, so close you can hear each sip of breath darting past his lips. So close it nearly makes you dizzy; the result of a restless, confused mind trying to make sense of things. You're a thinker, it can't be helped.
And you've never really considered that a flaw, but that still doesn't change the fact that, right now, it unmistakably is.
Your thoughts wander in aimless circles of fluctuating size, going everywhere and nowhere at the same time. And if you could, you would shut them out. Thing is, you can't. Not when the source of them lays within arm's reach, stretched out at the edge of your twin bed, and blissfully unaware that the blankets wedged strategically between you two aren't making this any easier to deal with.
No, sleeping is impossible under such conditions. And you're so tired, you'd give anything to be knocked out until morning. Or perhaps, to go back instead. Rewind ten minutes, with just enough time to stop Sasuke from inching back the covers and slipping in with all the discretion of someone wishing to be invisible.
And he was nearly successful.
You fight the sigh rising in your throat because you've already gone through this particular thought-circle twice. Bargaining for impossible things, not something you do often, if ever; it makes your skin twitch all over.
Your eyes burn with wakefulness, and you long to press the palms of your hands harshly into the sockets, but you don't risk the movement. You settle for exhaling quietly through your nose, wondering if it's too late to raise your foot to Sasuke's back and just kick.
Regardless, you don't. Instead you discretely arrange yourself more comfortably at the far--which, in reality, isn't that far at all--side of the bed, ignore the way the wall is cold and hard on your spine, accept the missing curve of a pillow beneath your neck, and you wait.
You wait for an answer to why Sasuke came here tonight. You wait to know why you let him in because you're still not really sure. But mostly, you wait for Sasuke to move away from the dislocated bedspring that is causing him to shift around in the first place. Because, frankly, that's annoying.
It's several minutes later when you conclude that Sasuke is simply comfortable with being uncomfortable. This, after a moment of silent pondering, begins to make sense given where he's spent the past year. You are no genius when it comes to prison cells, but you're fairly certain Sasuke's comfort wasn't top priority. Just a guess.
Something flashes at the foot of your bed. The tiny flicker of light is just jarring enough--and you swear it's not from any type of hypersensitivity that comes from being in bed with your former student, that's just ridiculous--for your own unease to resurface.
Your eyes open fully because, well, it's not as if you can be seen through that mountain of blankets, anyway, and you follow the assumed outline of Sasuke's body down to where dark bands encase his ankles. Just because you're looking, the light doesn't return, and it's not like you care either way. You are, however, struck with curiosity over how it feels to have chakra drained from one's feet. Something tells you it tingles.
Apparently, house arrest in Konoha came with the added bonus of energy-sapping, inch-thick jewelry. As if the barrage of seals scrawled all over Sasuke's skin wouldn't suffice.
And, this is how thinking becomes a flaw; you were really trying to avoid that whole topic. So much for that.
The dryness in your throat comes as a surprise. Reality has clawed its way over that mental brick wall, and it's holding hands with the guilt that comes from knowing part of this is your fault. That there's a reason you can't just toss Sasuke out the front door; it's much too late for that. And you feel somewhat helpless when your stomach starts doing that weird twisting thing again. It could just be something you ate because, let's face it, your diet isn't the healthiest in the world.
But...it's much more likely anxiety from tampering with that black symbol just above Sasuke's left shoulder blade. The one that says house arrest means house arrest. Because, last time you checked, your apartment certainly wasn't synonymous with Sasuke's apartment, in fact, there were quite a few room numbers separating the two.
Not that you counted or anything.
You make an effort to swallow and immediately wish you hadn't. Your tongue sticks to the roof of your mouth, and it's thick, and it's heavy, and you can't be bothered. So you leave it there.
Just like you did when Sasuke first showed up, quiet and motionless outside your door. Oh, and you hadn't known what panic was until that moment.
Sure, your gaze sharpened with suspicion and your lips pressed tight and firm behind your mask. You blended disbelief and disinterest together so seamlessly that Sasuke had never suspected your stomach was plummeting into an adrenaline-induced freefall. He hadn't caught on to the way your fingers tightened atop the doorknob; he missed how your skin paled just a fraction. But, most importantly, Sasuke hadn't discovered that he'd rendered you speechless--a habit you've always been desperate to break him of.
Nonetheless, there you stood, robbed of word and thought, until everything came crashing down. A million observations available and only three managed to surface.
Sasuke had been under house-arrest for less than a day.
He painted a pitiful picture, leaning in your doorway. Slack-jawed and disheveled...because he ran here like an idiot.
And, you really needed to get him inside immediately before someone saw what was going on.
For some reason, the third seemed the most pressing.
You swear it was like being on autopilot, when you just do things without questioning them, without having time to question them, because the next thing you know Sasuke is pushed flat against the door, stripped of his shirt, and you're working to tweak those marks before the seal burns red and poofs an army of ANBU into your living room.
A part of you still waits for the stampede of footsteps to emerge from thin air and cave-in your bedroom door. And you'd let them do it because you obviously need a good punch to the face for doing something this fucking stupid.
That aside, there's no doubt that you'll both be facing consequences soon enough, since you're positive Sasuke had been assigned someone to keep watch over him. Someone who had to have seen the whole thing. There's even a small, desperate part of you hoping that it's someone who knows you, someone who will understand.
And maybe that's asking too much because even you don't really understand. At all.
The paranoia--you hate acknowledging it for what it is--for roughly the hundredth time, makes itself known. And, for roughly the hundredth time, you have to hold back from yanking the blankets away and reassuring that you did alter the symbol correctly. Because, while you know deep down that you did, there will always be that chest-twisting fear that you overlooked something. That the body curled up in front of you is a ticking time bomb that you'd just signed your life away to protect.
It infuriates you, the way you've been sucked into this whole thing.
The fact that Sasuke came to you...in the fucking middle of the night like an escaped convict--only that's exactly what he was--and making you his accomplice, his keeper. Like you're some sort of shield, someone who can help him, like you're his...teacher.
But, no.
You're done. Sasuke isn't your responsibility, and hasn't been for a very, very long time.
Although that doesn't change the fact that Sasuke is in your bed right now, still fidgeting against that one bedspring--and you really weren't grasping why he wouldn't just move. This wasn't his first time lying on your cheap, old mattress. No, it had happened before. Albeit, just one other time.
And it was so, so long ago, now that you think back to it. Sasuke must've been half the size he was now, slightly more talkative, and just as difficult to deal with.
That day, propped against the wall above your bed, you had zeroed in on Sasuke's injuries, had analyzed their severity and wondered if the pain came anywhere close to the massive headache Itachi had blessed you with just a few days prior. You guessed not. After all, Sasuke had abandoned the hospital, choosing instead to hike across town and step uninvited through a front door that should have been locked. You had been stared down at from the foot of the bed. So you returned the favor, with boredom. There was a long moment during which nobody spoke--and you aren't sure what you would have said, anyway--and then...
"I'm staying here tonight."
You told yourself it was the lack of energy that made you give in so quickly, that you were just too exhausted to tell Sasuke to go home. It was a good cover that lasted you quite a while. You also told yourself that, had your injuries not been as bad, you would've gotten up and taken the couch. That one had a lot more truth to it, but Sasuke didn't take up that much space so the awkwardness from sharing the bed easily dissipated. Enough for you to grin sleepily into your forearm while Sasuke complained all night about your junky old mattress and its stupid springs from hell.
But Sasuke wasn't complaining this time, wasn't saying much of anything, and it's one less thing to deal with. You think you should be relieved. You aren't.
It dawns on you, suddenly, that not only had Sasuke not said much of anything, but, in reality, he had said nothing. Because, no matter how accustomed you've grown to them, small hums and hns were most certainly not actual words. And, you think, that's probably why he opts to use them as a replacement, because words are revealing and, had he used them, you may not be lying awake this very moment trying to understand what was going on.
And once again you're reminded that you probably shouldn't know, that it's none of your business, that Sasuke is an adult, and a criminal, and you're helping him break the law, and you really, really need to close your eyes because when you do this will all just go away.
You swallow again, breathe a little harder. Because if you do it loud enough, it will block out the idea of not wanting it to go away just yet.
Sasuke shifts again and you stop thinking entirely, believe you may have stopped breathing too. Your eyes slide shut and you work on relaxing your muscles enough to feign sleep should he flip over to face you. Sasuke hasn't rolled off his side since he first slipped into the bed, but it doesn't hurt to be prepared. Just in case.
The bed rocks less gently, his care for discretion lessening, and you can hear Sasuke's feet swishing against the sheet. Somewhere, another spring creaks as he rolls his hips, and you're almost tricked into believing that's it. But then, the heel of Sasuke's right foot nudges your ankle when it draws back, disturbs the fabric there as it slides upward slowly. And there's a dramatic crease between your eyebrows because you want to move, to shift backward and away, but you can't because the wall isn't absorbing your body like you hope it will.
And, in a much similar reaction to Sasuke climbing into your bed--when you thought it was made perfectly clear that the couch was for him, and that that was really more generosity than you could afford--you think of how unfair it is.
When he finally pulls away some forty seconds later, your lungs burn with relief and the hand pillowing your head untwists the fingers from your hair, but doesn't let go. You don't close your eyes either, don't care if Sasuke knows you're awake anymore because you're not sure if you can deal with this for much longer.
Above all else, you hate the way your ankle cools now that it has no reason to stay warm.
And suddenly, you're at your limit, you know you won't survive the next few hours until dawn. Not pressed against the wall like this. Like you're keeping away from something poisonous. It's enough to drive the sanest man crazy.
Maybe you are feeling a little crazy, right now.
The dizzying sensation in your head has evolved into an all-out haze. An irrational, intoxicating, haze that you don't want to stick around and wallow in, so you raise your arm. You're not pleased with its unnatural heaviness, and absolutely despise the sweat that slicks your palm because it's not quite hot enough to be sweating. Stealthily, you curl it into your chest, wary of the blankets. You don't have to pretend not to see the tremor that rocks your fingers because, obviously, it's not there.
Instead, you concentrate on the awkwardness of forming symbols without thin leather between your fingers. It's strange, like walking outside without shoes, and you assume that's why your movements are sluggish.
It has nothing to do with picturing Sasuke's face when he wakes up alone.
Another, deeper, inhale, probably the humidity. Just because it's not hot enough to sweat doesn't mean it's not humid enough to make breathing a little difficult. Your hand speeds up; you need to get out of here. Obito won't want to see you this early in the morning, but, hell, that's never stopped you before. You falter again, and this time it has nothing to do with naked hands.
It's a naked shoulder. Sasuke's naked shoulder, actually.
The blankets peel away, wrinkle into a bundle somewhere below Sasuke's ribcage. You're not sure exactly where because your eyes are busy measuring the gap between your bodies; you really thought there had been more space and you don't know why, but for some reason being wrong about that makes you uncomfortable. It makes your hand freeze up.
You are one twitch of your fingers away from leaving this situation, it's so simple, just one more, but it's hard when another part of you says just one more second. You're staring at Sasuke's back, now, finally putting the not-quite-anxiety to rest because you spot your mark just above the ridge of shoulder blade. It's dull, it's black, it's fine, and you wait for the tension in your stomach to ease, try hard to act surprised when it doesn't.
Sasuke's shoulder moves in a circle, like it's stiff, and you want to scoff, to tell him that maybe if he didn't stay in one position all night it wouldn't feel that way. You don't say anything, though, because you both have this great little I-don't-talk, you-don't-talk thing going on.
That, and watching the black marks ripple atop sleek muscle and bone is fucking messing with your head.
Your fingers knot in your hair again, grounding you in a sense, reminding you that anything from this point forward would be met with unfavorable consequence. And consequences mean everything to you.
But then, Sasuke moves again, and you want to close your eyes because it's becoming slight a problem--the way another, steadily-growing part of you really, really wants to watch and keep watching. Your eyes are burning something fierce and it really has nothing to do with sleep anymore. Maybe it never did.
Sasuke's foot comes back, and if it hadn't you would have been surprised. But that doesn't make it any easier to endure, doesn't minimize the knee-jerk reaction you have to consciously suppress when cold toes accidentally-on-purpose slide up, dragging your pant leg along with them. They curl around the edge of the fabric. Toenails scrape distractingly against your bare skin. And it all becomes so incredibly unbearable.
You wet your lips, not caring that it dampens the fabric of your mask because you're about to break the no-talking rule, and that's slightly more important. Get out is a little harsh, not very subtle, but you need to say something.
...And you're conflicted once more, and it's not fair because you never started doing this until a few hours ago, around the same time Sasuke stood in your living room looking lost and thirteen fucking years old again.
God damn it.
The words die in your throat, melt away like they were never there. They probably wouldn't have come out right, anyway. They never do in these types of situations.
But then, Sasuke's toes twitch against your ankle and something inside snaps.
Your hand still hovers between you, and your stomach lurches when you discover it's extending farther and farther from your body, but you have no will to pull it back.
There is no plan, not even a rough outline, and you can't even hope for the best because you don't know what the best is anymore. You're on autopilot again, only this time everything has been questioned and you're still doing it.
Somewhere inside, a voice begs for you to stop--that this is a road you don't want to go down. It doesn't stand a chance when another reasons you can't stop something you haven't started yet. Both of them make you hate yourself.
But soon everything's drowned out by a breathless, mental countdown while your hand nudges closer.
...Five.
Everywhere, you can feel the blood pulsing, and it's definitely hot enough to be sweating now.
...Four.
The joints in your fingers are positively vibrating with the need to pull back. You keep reaching.
...Three.
Sensei would never let things get this far, but...you were never really that great of a teacher, anyway.
...Two.
You can't be doing this, you can't--but you are.
One never comes.
Sooner than anticipated, your index finger bumps awkwardly--timidly because you're scared shitless--against the swell of lithe muscle, four others anchoring shortly after. You are frozen, anticipating a flinch, a sound, anything, because this isn't just anyone you've got your hand on...it's Sasuke.
But there's nothing and a breath-holding silence stretches on until that foot slides back down your leg. You think it's about to pull away--that Sasuke's going to get out of your bed, and that's probably a good idea--but it doesn't. He doesn't.
It's you that nearly flinches when cold toes settle above your own, heel resting against the top of your foot. Approval. And you can't believe it. That this is what Sasuke wants.
Heat crawls up your neck; you barely register that he's rotating his shoulder again, pushing your hand flat against his skin in the process. It's smooth, damp with a fine sheen of sweat, and it really shouldn't be as fascinating as it is. But it is.
You don't wait for another move from him, letting your palm glide downward, unprompted. The seals are almost tangible, as if you can feel the upraised lines, and you know it's all in your head, but that doesn't stop you from tracing them. You try to be gentle, keeping the pressure light, but it's difficult with fingers as rough as yours. The calluses are undoubtedly scratchy and unpleasant, and you're almost apologetic when you accidentally press too hard along the top of his ribs, but then Sasuke's head sinks further into the pillow, he exhales loudly, and suddenly you aren't so sorry.
You do it again and again, swirling all along the abstract patterns at his side, creating your own shapes in areas that lack them, gazing with open interest at the goosebumps springing up on Sasuke's arm.
And then, you wonder what exactly you're doing, how this is going to fix anything in this broken, twisted relationship you share. It probably won't, but it'll take a lot more than a few heated touches to make it worse.
At this point, you think, you're just making excuses.
When your fingers hit the border of Sasuke's cloth-covered hips, you let them drift back, inward, and fuck it's like a furnace between the two of you.
Simultaneously, the backs of your fingers glide in the slickness at the small of Sasuke's back...and the heel of your palm just barely skids across the front of your pants. You're so hard just from this, and you want to be disgusted. You are, somewhat, yet not nearly as much as you should be. But Sasuke makes for an amazing distraction, so you're going to let him distract.
Your fingers trace back up the valley of his spine with newfound boldness, thumb pressing inward to count the bumps of vertebrae. His back is strong, muscle hardly yielding to reveal bone, and you honestly can't believe this is the same body you tended to every night during the chuunin exams. The same scrawny, premature frame that laid sprawled out on your bedroll, fighting to remain soundless while you kneaded away the tension with large fingers, and failing to hide the lowest of groans once you reached his neck.
Black hair at his nape obscures your view, but that's okay because you remember this part fairly well. The strands are damp and hug the backs of your knuckles; your hand slides upward, fingers closing in from both sides, cradling. It's just your thumb and middle finger that move in steady, concentrated circles, but it's more than enough. You press, release, and press again, harder this time, like some sort of secret pass code that only you know.
Sasuke's mouth drops open. You don't have to see it to know it. It's evident enough in the way you can hear his shaky breathing, louder than ever. You're secretly pleased, though you'd never admit it.
Because you have no room to talk, really, your lips have been parted since long before this even began. Your tongue has come out time and time again to wet them, but the mask always steals your spit away and leaves you feeling worse off than before. That can't really be helped; its purpose is to hide things. And normally you'd be thankful, but right now you'd love nothing more than to tear the thing down and gulp in a breath or two that wasn't heavily filtered by your own perspiration.
You don't risk it. It's not even about Sasuke turning to see as much as it's the fear that you won't want to pull it back up again. That, in all honesty, terrifies you.
So, when the desperate need to suck in a breath hits, you wait for one of Sasuke's staggered intakes before you give in. Your weakness is private; he doesn't need to hear it.
You think he does anyway because he falls silent shortly after, like he's listening intently for it to happen again. But you're not giving him the opportunity; you squeeze roughly along the back of tendon and listen to Sasuke make his first sound of pained pleasure. It's quiet and low, a rumbling from deep in his chest, and nothing like the prepubescent grunt that had you smirking all those years ago.
You can't even think to smirk now, too caught up in the vicious jolt inside your pants and the echoing tremors tearing at your foundation.
Sasuke feels your fingers waver and you're too far into this game to convince him otherwise. Regardless, you release his neck in favor of trailing back down. The urge to pull away is strong; you're not sure you can keep your composure while seeing this through to the end. And composure, distance, boundaries, being able to look yourself in the mirror tomorrow--all of that is vital.
Yet, even after all these years Sasuke still isn't playing by your rules, which maybe you should have expected.
Your hand rests upon the feverish skin of his hip; there's nowhere else for you to put it. The space between you has since narrowed and you know none of it was your doing--the wall is as firm and uncomfortable as ever. Heat is pouring from Sasuke's body, your clothes seem to take in as much as they can and you feel sincerely betrayed. You don't want to look down, but you do anyway.
A heavy weight down your right pant leg, your cock is throbbing and trapped, leaking fluid against the top of your thigh. Had the lights been on, the stain would be evident. You're thankful it's dark, but not dark enough to hide just how close Sasuke is.
An inch more, that was all he had to move, and he would feel every ounce of the shame you carried. You imagine grabbing him and pulling him back, making him face the reality of a situation he hasn't thought his way through yet. The idea is supposed to sober you up...
Instead you feel wetness slide further down your leg.
The foot you'd long since forgotten about falls away. There's barely a second before Sasuke shifts in a way that has the audacity to still appear innocent, and you're quick to hold hips immobile in an iron-grip, still looking down. You're still looking down and you're praying--begging to some god you've never believed in--that he just listens to what you're silently telling him. Of how it's too much. You don't need this in your life right now.
Muscles flex in your entire arm and you're ready to fight him on this, only you're not. Especially when the top half of his body arches to sink into you.
All at once you become back-to-chest, his hair smothers your face, his heat engulfs your body, and you can smell the musk on him. You can smell the sex.
It's an accident. Your hand slips momentarily, skates forward across the plane of flat abdomen, and Sasuke does what he's been wanting to do.
He settles against you snugly, doesn't stop moving, and, god help you, there's no hiding the noise you make. There's no mistaking the way your hand tightens its hold on his stomach, hugging that squirming body to you. He's feeling everything, you remind yourself, the thin material of your pants hides nothing, and you have to bury your face in his hair because you think you might sob out loud over how good it feels.
You've become a prisoner in your own home. The stiff wall has never been your ally and now, more than ever, it's evident whose side it's on. No matter how hard Sasuke presses back nothing yields, and it's all so unbearably torturous--the friction on your cock, his half-naked body melded against you, sweaty and unforgiving, his nimble fingers that clasp your hand in a controlled grip and move it urgently elsewhere. Down, down...down.
Smooth skin becomes coarse hair, and the scratchiness of a waistband passes over the back of your hand way before you're okay with it. Sasuke's hard, too. You know it even prior to having your fingers delicately wrapped around him; you know it from the gap at his waist, large enough to squeeze both your hands through. The result of a bulge straining against fabric.
You wonder how long he thought about doing this, how long he let the idea dance around in his head before it drove him to do something this drastic. Fact is, you don't know. You don't know much of anything except you're halfway positive you would pull your hand out of Sasuke's pants had he not been holding you firmly in place.
But his grip is most certainly there, ensuring this contact--this intensity--is not lost. And so you cradle his flesh in a loose grip, feel the silky skin stretched taut, notice the cold wetness gluing the inside of his pants to your knuckles. The pad of your thumb tracks the beats of a rapid pulse and, before you can stop yourself, your grasp tightens.
Against the cushion of your fingers, a vein throbs--electric and alive.
You're so lost in sensory perception that he catches you off guard, once again, when he grinds back against you, cock jerking within your hold. Unprepared, you cannot stifle the gulp of air you force through your nose, but you'll take it because it's better than releasing the desperate moan sparking your insides.
"Kakashi," it's whispered in a way that should engulf you both in flames, it's that sinful, but you'll be damned if you don't want to hear it again. "Move with me."
He's choked up, weak, like he'll shatter if you deny him this. And, at this point, you think you would do anything for this person writhing against you so long as nothing stops. God, please, please don't let him stop. If he stops, everything will stop, and you're not ready to deal with the aftermath. Not yet.
You cease thinking, decide to move your hand instead. You caress the shaft, allow your palm to swipe over the head and smear the slickness all over.
Sasuke's hand, still anchored atop yours, goes slack upon the first full stroke, trembles on the second, and falls away on the third. The scent is strong when his fingers come up for air, reaching back to slither across your arm and clutch your hip, forcing you forward and harder against him.
Through clenched teeth, you hiss and reciprocate, bucking forward for the first time, no longer understanding why you hadn't done it sooner. And you do it again, continuously, groin tensing against each roll of your hips; together you form an intimate, ruinous cycle that should have never come to exist. But you're so far past caring.
It's so good it hurts. Your cock hurts from being crammed and stuffed along the inseam of your pants, from the relentless grinding against your lap, from the shameful need to escalate this because you're only human.
You pant into his neck, squeeze your eyes tightly shut, and jerk him off quickly, roughly, to the point where wet, squelching sounds rise--loud and obscene. Against his full-body shudder, you shake just as hard because it's been longer than you thought since you've done this. Since you've done anything, really.
Don't think.
Molars grinding, you yank your hand away, knocking his arm off in the process of delving beyond your own waistband because the aching has become impossible. And you finally, finally pull your cock up toward your navel. Unfiltered, your sigh of relief is coughed out. So much better.
Only, Sasuke mistakes your urgency for something else.
Through the erratic thumps in your chest, you hear the rustling of fabric, the burr of a zipper lowering.
You peer through his inky, black hair, watching the rest of Sasuke's body reveal itself. Just for a second; you can't stand to keep your eyes open when he comes back against you, all heat because there's no room for anything else. His crevice rubs along your knuckles from where your hand remains trapped in your pants, and, in turn, your cock spits out more wetness. A tight-lipped moan bursts from your throat as you thrust upward, fingers moving to caress you both.
His hand comes back, impatient, but you beat him to it. Your pants don't require two hands, thankfully, simply a few tugs from each side before they fall away and you're naked from the waist down. You could have pulled your cock through the slit at your crotch and left it at that. The fact that you didn't--you're not going to think about it. There's plenty of time for convincing later.
You both shift. Sasuke inches his way up while you shimmy your way down. You're not sure how you both know this needs to be done, but when you come together, naked, feverish, and perfect, you don't even question it.
Your large hand sprawls out on Sasuke's chest, drawing him fully back against you, loving how his skin slides along your torso even through your shirt. His head tilts back and your nose buries itself in his neck.
He smells the same way you feel: afflicted and out of control. And you get off on the fact that he's just as powerless as you.
Sasuke pushes down with his hips, and you shove forward, skin tingling from the lack of barriers, pleasure curdling somewhere below your gut. You rub yourself between his cheeks, loving how they hug the sides of your cock, squeezing in the most delicious way. Your eyes roll up in their sockets and your lashes tic rhythmically, uncontrollably.
The muscles in his abdomen bunch with tension as your fingers smooth their way down his body. You dip into the little valleys and defined creases that keep everything in place, feel how his skin flexes all around you. Sasuke lacks the emaciated frame of a convicted felon. It helps you forget that he is one.
His hip rests under the inside of your elbow when you reach his pelvic region. You silently press down to feel the bone dig into your skin before letting your hand go to where it's needed. Sasuke practically burns into your palm as you take him in hand. It wouldn't come as a surprise to find a thick stripe of scar tissue later. You probably wouldn't mind, you're already covered with them.
You balance his cock in your grasp, letting the pads of your fingers roam. They stretch downward, following the thick vein along the underside until you find the sac nestled between his thighs. Your pinkie reaches to brush tenderly straight down the middle, tugging slightly against wrinkled skin. On the way back up, you're a little rougher, give a little more pressure, just to feel his hips press forward and his shoulders fall back.
But it's not enough; his breathing is starting to calm while yours is starting to pick up. And that's something you can't have.
You cup him fully, palm squeezing, rolling, and then pressing up to bunch the sac against the base of his cock. Holding it there, you strain to hear the tail-end of a noise escape his lips. Not enough, it's still not enough. So you angle your thumb upward, ascend the twitching column of flesh until you find that patch of nerves below the tip. You swirl the loose skin there in tiny circles, then gradually pick up speed to outpace his steadily-climbing pulse.
He's got his arms in front of him, and you imagine the way he's clutching the edge of your mattress. Fingernails digging in, knuckles blazing white from the force. He's probably got his eyes squeezed shut, too. Just like you. He's just like you, now.
And finally, it's enough.
Between you, his crevice has grown slick with the constant shifting. It's all from you, and as recently as ten minutes ago you would have felt spikes of shame from every direction, but right now all you feel is yes, just like that. Your ass is numb from pushing and rubbing itself against the wall, but it doesn't matter, you keep doing it. Each upward thrust of your hips glides you straight through with ease. Sometimes the head of your dick catches on the tightened muscle of Sasuke's entrance and it makes him moan.
You like the way it sounds. You start to aim for it more and more. The way it snags your flared rim, pulling it slightly as you move, is almost too much. Soon, your thrusts become short, quick stabs, teasing and retreating until the ring begins to loosen.
You aren't aware of just how much until a particularly insistent buck pushes about an inch of you inside his body.
Every muscle you possess locks up and your head suddenly crashes back down on your shoulders. ...Wait--!
But Sasuke doesn't listen, doesn't realize that 'enough' just became 'too much'. Sasuke isn't playing by your rules. Instead he's forcing you to play by his.
He slides further onto you, velvety and hot. He's like a vice, he's strangling you and doesn't give a damn because he pulls off and does it all over again. So tight, and his insides flutter around you as he takes you deeper.
It has to hurt--it has to--but he's grunting and panting like it doesn't matter. Like it's not about what's happening physically. But you need it to be about the physical, need him to share that perspective, because anything else can't be allowed.
So you start to move against him slowly, try to counteract his roughness. You need to make this good, to make whatever's going on in his head disappear...and hopefully never come back.
It works, his demeanor changes after a few moments of calculated cautiousness. The tendons in his neck soften. His spine abandons its arch to slump back against you. Those short, stuttered sounds grow longer, less pronounced and he stops moving, let's you take over. Trusts you to handle this.
You'll do your best.
He's softened fractionally beneath your hand, but it isn't long before he's back, riding your palm and likely dripping all over your sheets.
You take this time to push in all the way from behind; feeling him pressed so close makes you break out in a cold sweat. Just an inch, you slide out, and then you're right back where you were, maybe a little deeper. The moan slips off your tongue before you can stop it.
Another rumbles out when Sasuke tilts his hips back, holding you inside that suffocating passage. You forget about trying to shut your mouth.
He pitches forward while you ease back. And the collision, this time, is much rougher, wilder...perhaps more so from your end. You know from the way he is knocked an extra inch across the sheets. The gap between you closes in a matter of seconds; you're finally able to disengage from the wall. Rhythm is no longer an awkward shuffle, the rigid movements blending into something more fluid and thorough.
Your knees bend, feet rolling with the wall and toes digging in because you need to use every chance of leverage available, because it's gorgeous the way he howls when you curl your body just right. Between breaths, the smack of skin on skin roars loud in your ears, but cannot entirely eclipse your spasmodic heartbeat. It's frantic, ready to give out at any second.
That doesn't stop you from driving in harder and harder. It doesn't deter your hand on its path through stiff pubic hair, sliding to palm the strong flesh of Sasuke's thigh. You waste no time in hooking your arm around his leg, lifting it up to hover atop your bodies. His ass spreads wider, you feel the minute difference in pressure rippling around your cock, and your body subsequently tenses everywhere possible. All five fingers clench around the back and sides of his knee; you slow to a tentative grind until the impending threat dies away. Sasuke doesn't mind.
Sasuke doesn't mind because he knows what's coming next.
Slowly, agonizingly, you withdraw. Every nerve in your body ignites, flocking to where he's fastened so fiercely around you, clamping to hold you in, reluctant to let go. The sensation is forceful enough to dismantle the strongest of your reservations, not that you have many left.
Breathe.
Pause.
Slam.
So precise, and--fuck, oh fuck, he doesn't think you hear that sound coming out of his mouth, but you do. Oh god, you do. Unlike anything you've ever experienced because it's a noise only Sasuke can make. And you need to hear it over and over until it's branded into your memory.
What's unexpected, however, is the way his body turns, shoulders swiveling and gasps angling toward the ceiling. And you can't help gazing into his face, finding his eyes squeezed shut, lids crinkled, and lashes stabbing into cheekbones. The new position must have changed something because you see the way his bottom lip quivers with every jolt of your hips. There aren't words to describe the way it affects you.
Your hand is slipping on his leg, grip failing, but it goes unnoticed--his pale, angular, uninhibited face all you can concentrate on.
And you're pathetic, struck with the urge to lean over and take those lips. A kiss with Sasuke was likely all teeth and no tongue, with too much force and not enough tact--a kiss with Sasuke wouldn't be a kiss at all.
There's absolutely nothing to gain from it. But you don't care, your tongue has already swiped along your bottom lip and your free hand is tugging your mask down past your ear.
The fabric creeps steadily down your nose as you continue to plow into him, watching his chin drop down a little further, catching a glimpse of canines whenever his top lip raises in an almost-snarl.
You haven't kissed anyone since you were fourteen, and have no idea why you're just remembering this now.
Your mask halts at the tip of your nose, suddenly indecisive. For a split second--overlooked by Sasuke, who continues to arch back against you--you stop moving altogether.
Only a second, and then you're back, repeatedly pushing into him, harsh and unevenly, hoping to distract you both because your mask is down and you're about to do something infinitely more reckless...
Except Sasuke chooses that exact moment to roll back over, completely unaware of the simultaneous gratitude and disappointment flooding your system. He reaches to stroke himself, probably feels the way your thrusts have faltered, but says nothing.
And you don't wait for him to, either. Your grip reinforces itself on his leg and you focus on shoving the both of you toward the release you seek, being sure to submerge yourself back into the physical because you'll be damned if you slip up a second time.
The rumpled mask is jerked back up sharply, crookedly realigning across your cheeks. It's damp and cold, but you decline to notice.
A dull ache seems to ripple from behind your left eye, and a less intelligent man would think it real. But, you know better. You know better, yet that doesn't keep the phantom pain from intensifying. It hits you in potent waves, something you haven't experienced in months. Too much, it's overwhelming, it burns, and you squeeze your eyes shut for the last time, vowing not to open them again until this is all over.
And, if Sasuke's involuntary convulsions and jerky arm movements are anything to go by, that time is quickly approaching.
This comes as a relief because your senses have heightened to the extreme, warmth is pooling between your hips, and you honestly can't take much more.
You've been wobbling at the edge of this cliff for what feels like days. Your blood has never stopped rushing since finding him at your door. Even now, you can't stop recalling those late nights...when you just couldn't get that face out of your head...when you would lay staring up at the ceiling and let your mind wander to places it should never go, all because he finally gave you eye contact during that third visit to his cell. Tossing you that look he has, the same one that's brought you to shuddering completion on more than one occasion.
Like three days ago.
...And it's unnerving, the things you're willing to admit when you're this close to coming. To escape further revelations, you move faster.
His back goes ramrod-straight, muscles steeling against your forehead, and you reach over just in time, letting his leg drop to stroke that hard, sputtering cock with everything you have.
Sasuke starts to moan, barely gets the first syllable out before his voice breaks, and then he's left gasping like his lungs are closing in on themselves, like your sloppy, messy thrusting is the only thing reminding him to breathe. And somehow, those raspy whispers hit you harder than a moan ever could.
He coats your hand, the hot fluid smearing all over and between your fingers that still race up and down, loose-fisted and oblivious because all you can focus on is the ecstasy shooting down your spine, gathering in a concentrated bundle at the base of your cock. Growing, escalating, until it surges up and out, pumping harshly into that still-writhing, still-clenching body.
You feel your face contort, grimacing and wincing, toes curling so hard that some of them pop because this feeling--this euphoria--is making colors flash behind your eyelids, making you bite hard into your lip to keep your mouth shut. Never have you been one to call out a name in orgasm, this time being no different. But, in your head, it's deafening how loudly you say it.
Sasuke. Sasuke. Sasuke.
The next few seconds seem unreal. Your heart pounds, your lungs hitch, and your crotch tingles with semi-pleasant aftershocks, but outwardly you're motionless. So is he. And for a moment, you think you'll be okay.
But then, his body pulls away and you can't be more wrong.
You feel him roll over onto his back, bothered by how he makes no move to gather his clothing. This--laying in soiled sheets, feeling the sweat drying on your body, being this close to someone while your cock softens--is something you could never deal with. You're always the first to roll out of bed, always ready to suggest a quick shower, always the one with somewhere to be afterward.
Temptation beckons you to hop right over him because it's what you normally do; it's a subtle hint that gets the other person moving if lingering occurs. Except Sasuke is still fully naked, hasn't even reached for the blankets, and you're not exactly ready to confront that head-on yet.
Although you're kind of forced to when he turns his head, hair swishing on your pillow. His breaths flow evenly across your eyelids and you know they won't go away until you look at him.
And so, only because you have to, you slide an eye open.
His hair's a mess, choppy bangs sideswept and glued to his forehead, and the after-sex flush still hasn't completely left his face--he looks years younger than when he first came here--but his otherwise judgmental look catches you off guard.
Right now, this is the last thing you need. Right now...it's probably what you deserve. You gaze calmly back at him; you'll let him throw the blame on you, you'll let him cast away his own responsibility, and you'll accept it because...maybe there are bits of sensei still left in you somewhere.
But then, he squints a little, focuses more, and you realize he's not staring at you. Just slightly, his eyes veer off to the left, steady in their observation. He's mentally tracing your scar up and down, and you'd say he appears troubled...but it's probably just his natural Sasuke look.
His lips press together, mouth corners tugging into a frown, and the pink finally fades from his cheeks. "I already know about it, you don't have to hide it."
Ever presumptuous, he doesn't even stop for a second to think it's not about him, that maybe, just maybe, it's about you. It's about you and your unbreakable habits, it's about there no longer being a reason to even acknowledge that part of your face...it's about your reflection still giving you the creeps when you expect to see red and are met with tortured black.
Yeah, you're still getting used to that...
Although, there is a small glimmer of amusement--and maybe a smaller glimmer of relief--when you notice Sasuke is no better at reading you now than he was back then. You've still got the upper hand, here, even if he's good at convincing you otherwise. That makes you relax a little, grants you that bit of familiarity you need.
Sasuke hasn't changed that much. He still has that tyrannical desire to be right. And you still possess the supreme urge to prove him wrong.
That's why your other eye pops open so nonchalantly. You revel in that barely-there scowl as he's forced to rethink things.
But, it's just as soon replaced with an expression of masked intrigue. He tilts his head, leans a little closer, and for a second you think he's going to reach out. You'd prefer he didn't. And maybe he is a little better at reading you because his arm remains glued to his side.
He then rolls back over to stare up at the ceiling, either unaware or uncaring of how your good eye takes in the milky droplets spattered across his skin.
Your face grows hot when it simultaneously reminds you of the sticky substance still coating your fingers. Unconsciously, you wipe them along the edge of the sheet just as he speaks again.
"You know...you're the only reason I got released so fast. It's because of your--" he pauses like he's trying to find the correct wording, like he doesn't want to say the wrong thing and set you off, "Konoha wants a Sharingan user on the front-line in the upcoming war. The council knows I'm all they've got left. My sentence was shortened as a bribe."
None of this comes as a surprise; Konoha had sustained many casualties over the years...yourself included. Things, as of now, were looking pretty grim.
It takes you a second to find your voice, and when you do it comes out thicker than you'd anticipated, "Hm, your freedom in exchange for your loyalty."
He scoffs. "Loyalty is something I haven't felt for years. It's not just going to come back."
Despite those words, he doesn't sound very certain.
"Everything comes back with time," you assure him. It's not a lie because you've been there, but you won't go into detail. "You just have to want it to happen."
"Yeah," he agrees. And it's a start. "I know...there's a part of me that does, but--"
"But you need to be convinced." And things are starting to make sense. Why he came here. Why his eyes flickered distractedly around your apartment like it was his first time inside...
"I was looking for something to remind me," he lets out a loose laugh--a type of bitter, scornful chuckle that you've heard plenty of times before, "of how things were before I left."
Both of you are aware of just how impossible that is. Too much has happened. But still, Sasuke is trying to remember. Even now, when his teammates are too buried in S-rank missions to come home, when the entire district he grew up in has been burned to the ground...even when his old sensei is a shadow of his former self, Sasuke is still trying to find something to tie past and present together.
It's a foreign concept to you. The only way you have ever been able to move forward is by leaving everything else behind. "What if I can't do that for you, Sasuke?"
You're steady in your indifference, but you can't stop the guilt because you know he came to the wrong person. You understand, now, that Sasuke came here hoping everything would be preserved, never expecting to find your walls repainted, your furniture gone and replaced. He had no idea your home would transform so greatly from the place in his memory. All because that's your method.
You cope through denial; you never wanted the memories.
Yet here they are being shoved in your face, and you can't find it in yourself to look away.
Especially when you see the smallest smile tug at his lips, his eyes sliding over to meet yours. "You've done a lot more than you give yourself credit for."
The conversation tapers off from there, and your head and chest feel significantly heavier. You're just tired, you figure, or maybe you'll come up with something closer to the truth once you've slept.
Sasuke makes it back to his apartment without incident, which is highly suspicious. But, somehow it all makes sense a few hours later when Tenzou shows up at your door. He's indirect with his wording, though his eyes tell you everything you need to know. You thank him sincerely for covering your ass and he grumbles, then accepts it. When his quiet offer to deliver a message arises, you politely decline.
You're thinking about dropping in uninvited.
Fandom: Naruto
Pairing: Kakashi/Sasuke
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 8962
Summary(ish?): There's only so much Kakashi can take before he gives in.
Because experimentation is not just for the bedroom, but for writing as well! Tackling both 2nd person POV and angst was probably not the smartest thing I could have done. It was difficult, I struggled, I constantly rewrote/revised/edited, and upon finishing I loathed it.
Looking back, almost a year later, was it worth it? Abso-fucking-lutely yes.
Mama's proud.
The rustling is both incessant and distracting; a perfect time to open your eyes. Not that you were waiting for an excuse.
Lids slit open just enough to peer out of, to take in the bare foot whispering against sheets, the delicate fingers clutching at the top of a pillow, and your navy blankets piled high over a shoulder. The gentle rocking of bedsprings is almost lulling and the dips in the mattress are subtle. Your neighbor is careful when shifting his body, every move calculated, precise. Indistinguishable to a sleeping man. But, oh, you aren't sleeping.
You are tired, of course.
Simply not tired enough to ignore the fact that Sasuke is in your bed. Silent, recluse, adult Sasuke is curled up on his side scant inches away, so close you can hear each sip of breath darting past his lips. So close it nearly makes you dizzy; the result of a restless, confused mind trying to make sense of things. You're a thinker, it can't be helped.
And you've never really considered that a flaw, but that still doesn't change the fact that, right now, it unmistakably is.
Your thoughts wander in aimless circles of fluctuating size, going everywhere and nowhere at the same time. And if you could, you would shut them out. Thing is, you can't. Not when the source of them lays within arm's reach, stretched out at the edge of your twin bed, and blissfully unaware that the blankets wedged strategically between you two aren't making this any easier to deal with.
No, sleeping is impossible under such conditions. And you're so tired, you'd give anything to be knocked out until morning. Or perhaps, to go back instead. Rewind ten minutes, with just enough time to stop Sasuke from inching back the covers and slipping in with all the discretion of someone wishing to be invisible.
And he was nearly successful.
You fight the sigh rising in your throat because you've already gone through this particular thought-circle twice. Bargaining for impossible things, not something you do often, if ever; it makes your skin twitch all over.
Your eyes burn with wakefulness, and you long to press the palms of your hands harshly into the sockets, but you don't risk the movement. You settle for exhaling quietly through your nose, wondering if it's too late to raise your foot to Sasuke's back and just kick.
Regardless, you don't. Instead you discretely arrange yourself more comfortably at the far--which, in reality, isn't that far at all--side of the bed, ignore the way the wall is cold and hard on your spine, accept the missing curve of a pillow beneath your neck, and you wait.
You wait for an answer to why Sasuke came here tonight. You wait to know why you let him in because you're still not really sure. But mostly, you wait for Sasuke to move away from the dislocated bedspring that is causing him to shift around in the first place. Because, frankly, that's annoying.
It's several minutes later when you conclude that Sasuke is simply comfortable with being uncomfortable. This, after a moment of silent pondering, begins to make sense given where he's spent the past year. You are no genius when it comes to prison cells, but you're fairly certain Sasuke's comfort wasn't top priority. Just a guess.
Something flashes at the foot of your bed. The tiny flicker of light is just jarring enough--and you swear it's not from any type of hypersensitivity that comes from being in bed with your former student, that's just ridiculous--for your own unease to resurface.
Your eyes open fully because, well, it's not as if you can be seen through that mountain of blankets, anyway, and you follow the assumed outline of Sasuke's body down to where dark bands encase his ankles. Just because you're looking, the light doesn't return, and it's not like you care either way. You are, however, struck with curiosity over how it feels to have chakra drained from one's feet. Something tells you it tingles.
Apparently, house arrest in Konoha came with the added bonus of energy-sapping, inch-thick jewelry. As if the barrage of seals scrawled all over Sasuke's skin wouldn't suffice.
And, this is how thinking becomes a flaw; you were really trying to avoid that whole topic. So much for that.
The dryness in your throat comes as a surprise. Reality has clawed its way over that mental brick wall, and it's holding hands with the guilt that comes from knowing part of this is your fault. That there's a reason you can't just toss Sasuke out the front door; it's much too late for that. And you feel somewhat helpless when your stomach starts doing that weird twisting thing again. It could just be something you ate because, let's face it, your diet isn't the healthiest in the world.
But...it's much more likely anxiety from tampering with that black symbol just above Sasuke's left shoulder blade. The one that says house arrest means house arrest. Because, last time you checked, your apartment certainly wasn't synonymous with Sasuke's apartment, in fact, there were quite a few room numbers separating the two.
Not that you counted or anything.
You make an effort to swallow and immediately wish you hadn't. Your tongue sticks to the roof of your mouth, and it's thick, and it's heavy, and you can't be bothered. So you leave it there.
Just like you did when Sasuke first showed up, quiet and motionless outside your door. Oh, and you hadn't known what panic was until that moment.
Sure, your gaze sharpened with suspicion and your lips pressed tight and firm behind your mask. You blended disbelief and disinterest together so seamlessly that Sasuke had never suspected your stomach was plummeting into an adrenaline-induced freefall. He hadn't caught on to the way your fingers tightened atop the doorknob; he missed how your skin paled just a fraction. But, most importantly, Sasuke hadn't discovered that he'd rendered you speechless--a habit you've always been desperate to break him of.
Nonetheless, there you stood, robbed of word and thought, until everything came crashing down. A million observations available and only three managed to surface.
Sasuke had been under house-arrest for less than a day.
He painted a pitiful picture, leaning in your doorway. Slack-jawed and disheveled...because he ran here like an idiot.
And, you really needed to get him inside immediately before someone saw what was going on.
For some reason, the third seemed the most pressing.
You swear it was like being on autopilot, when you just do things without questioning them, without having time to question them, because the next thing you know Sasuke is pushed flat against the door, stripped of his shirt, and you're working to tweak those marks before the seal burns red and poofs an army of ANBU into your living room.
A part of you still waits for the stampede of footsteps to emerge from thin air and cave-in your bedroom door. And you'd let them do it because you obviously need a good punch to the face for doing something this fucking stupid.
That aside, there's no doubt that you'll both be facing consequences soon enough, since you're positive Sasuke had been assigned someone to keep watch over him. Someone who had to have seen the whole thing. There's even a small, desperate part of you hoping that it's someone who knows you, someone who will understand.
And maybe that's asking too much because even you don't really understand. At all.
The paranoia--you hate acknowledging it for what it is--for roughly the hundredth time, makes itself known. And, for roughly the hundredth time, you have to hold back from yanking the blankets away and reassuring that you did alter the symbol correctly. Because, while you know deep down that you did, there will always be that chest-twisting fear that you overlooked something. That the body curled up in front of you is a ticking time bomb that you'd just signed your life away to protect.
It infuriates you, the way you've been sucked into this whole thing.
The fact that Sasuke came to you...in the fucking middle of the night like an escaped convict--only that's exactly what he was--and making you his accomplice, his keeper. Like you're some sort of shield, someone who can help him, like you're his...teacher.
But, no.
You're done. Sasuke isn't your responsibility, and hasn't been for a very, very long time.
Although that doesn't change the fact that Sasuke is in your bed right now, still fidgeting against that one bedspring--and you really weren't grasping why he wouldn't just move. This wasn't his first time lying on your cheap, old mattress. No, it had happened before. Albeit, just one other time.
And it was so, so long ago, now that you think back to it. Sasuke must've been half the size he was now, slightly more talkative, and just as difficult to deal with.
That day, propped against the wall above your bed, you had zeroed in on Sasuke's injuries, had analyzed their severity and wondered if the pain came anywhere close to the massive headache Itachi had blessed you with just a few days prior. You guessed not. After all, Sasuke had abandoned the hospital, choosing instead to hike across town and step uninvited through a front door that should have been locked. You had been stared down at from the foot of the bed. So you returned the favor, with boredom. There was a long moment during which nobody spoke--and you aren't sure what you would have said, anyway--and then...
"I'm staying here tonight."
You told yourself it was the lack of energy that made you give in so quickly, that you were just too exhausted to tell Sasuke to go home. It was a good cover that lasted you quite a while. You also told yourself that, had your injuries not been as bad, you would've gotten up and taken the couch. That one had a lot more truth to it, but Sasuke didn't take up that much space so the awkwardness from sharing the bed easily dissipated. Enough for you to grin sleepily into your forearm while Sasuke complained all night about your junky old mattress and its stupid springs from hell.
But Sasuke wasn't complaining this time, wasn't saying much of anything, and it's one less thing to deal with. You think you should be relieved. You aren't.
It dawns on you, suddenly, that not only had Sasuke not said much of anything, but, in reality, he had said nothing. Because, no matter how accustomed you've grown to them, small hums and hns were most certainly not actual words. And, you think, that's probably why he opts to use them as a replacement, because words are revealing and, had he used them, you may not be lying awake this very moment trying to understand what was going on.
And once again you're reminded that you probably shouldn't know, that it's none of your business, that Sasuke is an adult, and a criminal, and you're helping him break the law, and you really, really need to close your eyes because when you do this will all just go away.
You swallow again, breathe a little harder. Because if you do it loud enough, it will block out the idea of not wanting it to go away just yet.
Sasuke shifts again and you stop thinking entirely, believe you may have stopped breathing too. Your eyes slide shut and you work on relaxing your muscles enough to feign sleep should he flip over to face you. Sasuke hasn't rolled off his side since he first slipped into the bed, but it doesn't hurt to be prepared. Just in case.
The bed rocks less gently, his care for discretion lessening, and you can hear Sasuke's feet swishing against the sheet. Somewhere, another spring creaks as he rolls his hips, and you're almost tricked into believing that's it. But then, the heel of Sasuke's right foot nudges your ankle when it draws back, disturbs the fabric there as it slides upward slowly. And there's a dramatic crease between your eyebrows because you want to move, to shift backward and away, but you can't because the wall isn't absorbing your body like you hope it will.
And, in a much similar reaction to Sasuke climbing into your bed--when you thought it was made perfectly clear that the couch was for him, and that that was really more generosity than you could afford--you think of how unfair it is.
When he finally pulls away some forty seconds later, your lungs burn with relief and the hand pillowing your head untwists the fingers from your hair, but doesn't let go. You don't close your eyes either, don't care if Sasuke knows you're awake anymore because you're not sure if you can deal with this for much longer.
Above all else, you hate the way your ankle cools now that it has no reason to stay warm.
And suddenly, you're at your limit, you know you won't survive the next few hours until dawn. Not pressed against the wall like this. Like you're keeping away from something poisonous. It's enough to drive the sanest man crazy.
Maybe you are feeling a little crazy, right now.
The dizzying sensation in your head has evolved into an all-out haze. An irrational, intoxicating, haze that you don't want to stick around and wallow in, so you raise your arm. You're not pleased with its unnatural heaviness, and absolutely despise the sweat that slicks your palm because it's not quite hot enough to be sweating. Stealthily, you curl it into your chest, wary of the blankets. You don't have to pretend not to see the tremor that rocks your fingers because, obviously, it's not there.
Instead, you concentrate on the awkwardness of forming symbols without thin leather between your fingers. It's strange, like walking outside without shoes, and you assume that's why your movements are sluggish.
It has nothing to do with picturing Sasuke's face when he wakes up alone.
Another, deeper, inhale, probably the humidity. Just because it's not hot enough to sweat doesn't mean it's not humid enough to make breathing a little difficult. Your hand speeds up; you need to get out of here. Obito won't want to see you this early in the morning, but, hell, that's never stopped you before. You falter again, and this time it has nothing to do with naked hands.
It's a naked shoulder. Sasuke's naked shoulder, actually.
The blankets peel away, wrinkle into a bundle somewhere below Sasuke's ribcage. You're not sure exactly where because your eyes are busy measuring the gap between your bodies; you really thought there had been more space and you don't know why, but for some reason being wrong about that makes you uncomfortable. It makes your hand freeze up.
You are one twitch of your fingers away from leaving this situation, it's so simple, just one more, but it's hard when another part of you says just one more second. You're staring at Sasuke's back, now, finally putting the not-quite-anxiety to rest because you spot your mark just above the ridge of shoulder blade. It's dull, it's black, it's fine, and you wait for the tension in your stomach to ease, try hard to act surprised when it doesn't.
Sasuke's shoulder moves in a circle, like it's stiff, and you want to scoff, to tell him that maybe if he didn't stay in one position all night it wouldn't feel that way. You don't say anything, though, because you both have this great little I-don't-talk, you-don't-talk thing going on.
That, and watching the black marks ripple atop sleek muscle and bone is fucking messing with your head.
Your fingers knot in your hair again, grounding you in a sense, reminding you that anything from this point forward would be met with unfavorable consequence. And consequences mean everything to you.
But then, Sasuke moves again, and you want to close your eyes because it's becoming slight a problem--the way another, steadily-growing part of you really, really wants to watch and keep watching. Your eyes are burning something fierce and it really has nothing to do with sleep anymore. Maybe it never did.
Sasuke's foot comes back, and if it hadn't you would have been surprised. But that doesn't make it any easier to endure, doesn't minimize the knee-jerk reaction you have to consciously suppress when cold toes accidentally-on-purpose slide up, dragging your pant leg along with them. They curl around the edge of the fabric. Toenails scrape distractingly against your bare skin. And it all becomes so incredibly unbearable.
You wet your lips, not caring that it dampens the fabric of your mask because you're about to break the no-talking rule, and that's slightly more important. Get out is a little harsh, not very subtle, but you need to say something.
...And you're conflicted once more, and it's not fair because you never started doing this until a few hours ago, around the same time Sasuke stood in your living room looking lost and thirteen fucking years old again.
God damn it.
The words die in your throat, melt away like they were never there. They probably wouldn't have come out right, anyway. They never do in these types of situations.
But then, Sasuke's toes twitch against your ankle and something inside snaps.
Your hand still hovers between you, and your stomach lurches when you discover it's extending farther and farther from your body, but you have no will to pull it back.
There is no plan, not even a rough outline, and you can't even hope for the best because you don't know what the best is anymore. You're on autopilot again, only this time everything has been questioned and you're still doing it.
Somewhere inside, a voice begs for you to stop--that this is a road you don't want to go down. It doesn't stand a chance when another reasons you can't stop something you haven't started yet. Both of them make you hate yourself.
But soon everything's drowned out by a breathless, mental countdown while your hand nudges closer.
...Five.
Everywhere, you can feel the blood pulsing, and it's definitely hot enough to be sweating now.
...Four.
The joints in your fingers are positively vibrating with the need to pull back. You keep reaching.
...Three.
Sensei would never let things get this far, but...you were never really that great of a teacher, anyway.
...Two.
You can't be doing this, you can't--but you are.
One never comes.
Sooner than anticipated, your index finger bumps awkwardly--timidly because you're scared shitless--against the swell of lithe muscle, four others anchoring shortly after. You are frozen, anticipating a flinch, a sound, anything, because this isn't just anyone you've got your hand on...it's Sasuke.
But there's nothing and a breath-holding silence stretches on until that foot slides back down your leg. You think it's about to pull away--that Sasuke's going to get out of your bed, and that's probably a good idea--but it doesn't. He doesn't.
It's you that nearly flinches when cold toes settle above your own, heel resting against the top of your foot. Approval. And you can't believe it. That this is what Sasuke wants.
Heat crawls up your neck; you barely register that he's rotating his shoulder again, pushing your hand flat against his skin in the process. It's smooth, damp with a fine sheen of sweat, and it really shouldn't be as fascinating as it is. But it is.
You don't wait for another move from him, letting your palm glide downward, unprompted. The seals are almost tangible, as if you can feel the upraised lines, and you know it's all in your head, but that doesn't stop you from tracing them. You try to be gentle, keeping the pressure light, but it's difficult with fingers as rough as yours. The calluses are undoubtedly scratchy and unpleasant, and you're almost apologetic when you accidentally press too hard along the top of his ribs, but then Sasuke's head sinks further into the pillow, he exhales loudly, and suddenly you aren't so sorry.
You do it again and again, swirling all along the abstract patterns at his side, creating your own shapes in areas that lack them, gazing with open interest at the goosebumps springing up on Sasuke's arm.
And then, you wonder what exactly you're doing, how this is going to fix anything in this broken, twisted relationship you share. It probably won't, but it'll take a lot more than a few heated touches to make it worse.
At this point, you think, you're just making excuses.
When your fingers hit the border of Sasuke's cloth-covered hips, you let them drift back, inward, and fuck it's like a furnace between the two of you.
Simultaneously, the backs of your fingers glide in the slickness at the small of Sasuke's back...and the heel of your palm just barely skids across the front of your pants. You're so hard just from this, and you want to be disgusted. You are, somewhat, yet not nearly as much as you should be. But Sasuke makes for an amazing distraction, so you're going to let him distract.
Your fingers trace back up the valley of his spine with newfound boldness, thumb pressing inward to count the bumps of vertebrae. His back is strong, muscle hardly yielding to reveal bone, and you honestly can't believe this is the same body you tended to every night during the chuunin exams. The same scrawny, premature frame that laid sprawled out on your bedroll, fighting to remain soundless while you kneaded away the tension with large fingers, and failing to hide the lowest of groans once you reached his neck.
Black hair at his nape obscures your view, but that's okay because you remember this part fairly well. The strands are damp and hug the backs of your knuckles; your hand slides upward, fingers closing in from both sides, cradling. It's just your thumb and middle finger that move in steady, concentrated circles, but it's more than enough. You press, release, and press again, harder this time, like some sort of secret pass code that only you know.
Sasuke's mouth drops open. You don't have to see it to know it. It's evident enough in the way you can hear his shaky breathing, louder than ever. You're secretly pleased, though you'd never admit it.
Because you have no room to talk, really, your lips have been parted since long before this even began. Your tongue has come out time and time again to wet them, but the mask always steals your spit away and leaves you feeling worse off than before. That can't really be helped; its purpose is to hide things. And normally you'd be thankful, but right now you'd love nothing more than to tear the thing down and gulp in a breath or two that wasn't heavily filtered by your own perspiration.
You don't risk it. It's not even about Sasuke turning to see as much as it's the fear that you won't want to pull it back up again. That, in all honesty, terrifies you.
So, when the desperate need to suck in a breath hits, you wait for one of Sasuke's staggered intakes before you give in. Your weakness is private; he doesn't need to hear it.
You think he does anyway because he falls silent shortly after, like he's listening intently for it to happen again. But you're not giving him the opportunity; you squeeze roughly along the back of tendon and listen to Sasuke make his first sound of pained pleasure. It's quiet and low, a rumbling from deep in his chest, and nothing like the prepubescent grunt that had you smirking all those years ago.
You can't even think to smirk now, too caught up in the vicious jolt inside your pants and the echoing tremors tearing at your foundation.
Sasuke feels your fingers waver and you're too far into this game to convince him otherwise. Regardless, you release his neck in favor of trailing back down. The urge to pull away is strong; you're not sure you can keep your composure while seeing this through to the end. And composure, distance, boundaries, being able to look yourself in the mirror tomorrow--all of that is vital.
Yet, even after all these years Sasuke still isn't playing by your rules, which maybe you should have expected.
Your hand rests upon the feverish skin of his hip; there's nowhere else for you to put it. The space between you has since narrowed and you know none of it was your doing--the wall is as firm and uncomfortable as ever. Heat is pouring from Sasuke's body, your clothes seem to take in as much as they can and you feel sincerely betrayed. You don't want to look down, but you do anyway.
A heavy weight down your right pant leg, your cock is throbbing and trapped, leaking fluid against the top of your thigh. Had the lights been on, the stain would be evident. You're thankful it's dark, but not dark enough to hide just how close Sasuke is.
An inch more, that was all he had to move, and he would feel every ounce of the shame you carried. You imagine grabbing him and pulling him back, making him face the reality of a situation he hasn't thought his way through yet. The idea is supposed to sober you up...
Instead you feel wetness slide further down your leg.
The foot you'd long since forgotten about falls away. There's barely a second before Sasuke shifts in a way that has the audacity to still appear innocent, and you're quick to hold hips immobile in an iron-grip, still looking down. You're still looking down and you're praying--begging to some god you've never believed in--that he just listens to what you're silently telling him. Of how it's too much. You don't need this in your life right now.
Muscles flex in your entire arm and you're ready to fight him on this, only you're not. Especially when the top half of his body arches to sink into you.
All at once you become back-to-chest, his hair smothers your face, his heat engulfs your body, and you can smell the musk on him. You can smell the sex.
It's an accident. Your hand slips momentarily, skates forward across the plane of flat abdomen, and Sasuke does what he's been wanting to do.
He settles against you snugly, doesn't stop moving, and, god help you, there's no hiding the noise you make. There's no mistaking the way your hand tightens its hold on his stomach, hugging that squirming body to you. He's feeling everything, you remind yourself, the thin material of your pants hides nothing, and you have to bury your face in his hair because you think you might sob out loud over how good it feels.
You've become a prisoner in your own home. The stiff wall has never been your ally and now, more than ever, it's evident whose side it's on. No matter how hard Sasuke presses back nothing yields, and it's all so unbearably torturous--the friction on your cock, his half-naked body melded against you, sweaty and unforgiving, his nimble fingers that clasp your hand in a controlled grip and move it urgently elsewhere. Down, down...down.
Smooth skin becomes coarse hair, and the scratchiness of a waistband passes over the back of your hand way before you're okay with it. Sasuke's hard, too. You know it even prior to having your fingers delicately wrapped around him; you know it from the gap at his waist, large enough to squeeze both your hands through. The result of a bulge straining against fabric.
You wonder how long he thought about doing this, how long he let the idea dance around in his head before it drove him to do something this drastic. Fact is, you don't know. You don't know much of anything except you're halfway positive you would pull your hand out of Sasuke's pants had he not been holding you firmly in place.
But his grip is most certainly there, ensuring this contact--this intensity--is not lost. And so you cradle his flesh in a loose grip, feel the silky skin stretched taut, notice the cold wetness gluing the inside of his pants to your knuckles. The pad of your thumb tracks the beats of a rapid pulse and, before you can stop yourself, your grasp tightens.
Against the cushion of your fingers, a vein throbs--electric and alive.
You're so lost in sensory perception that he catches you off guard, once again, when he grinds back against you, cock jerking within your hold. Unprepared, you cannot stifle the gulp of air you force through your nose, but you'll take it because it's better than releasing the desperate moan sparking your insides.
"Kakashi," it's whispered in a way that should engulf you both in flames, it's that sinful, but you'll be damned if you don't want to hear it again. "Move with me."
He's choked up, weak, like he'll shatter if you deny him this. And, at this point, you think you would do anything for this person writhing against you so long as nothing stops. God, please, please don't let him stop. If he stops, everything will stop, and you're not ready to deal with the aftermath. Not yet.
You cease thinking, decide to move your hand instead. You caress the shaft, allow your palm to swipe over the head and smear the slickness all over.
Sasuke's hand, still anchored atop yours, goes slack upon the first full stroke, trembles on the second, and falls away on the third. The scent is strong when his fingers come up for air, reaching back to slither across your arm and clutch your hip, forcing you forward and harder against him.
Through clenched teeth, you hiss and reciprocate, bucking forward for the first time, no longer understanding why you hadn't done it sooner. And you do it again, continuously, groin tensing against each roll of your hips; together you form an intimate, ruinous cycle that should have never come to exist. But you're so far past caring.
It's so good it hurts. Your cock hurts from being crammed and stuffed along the inseam of your pants, from the relentless grinding against your lap, from the shameful need to escalate this because you're only human.
You pant into his neck, squeeze your eyes tightly shut, and jerk him off quickly, roughly, to the point where wet, squelching sounds rise--loud and obscene. Against his full-body shudder, you shake just as hard because it's been longer than you thought since you've done this. Since you've done anything, really.
Don't think.
Molars grinding, you yank your hand away, knocking his arm off in the process of delving beyond your own waistband because the aching has become impossible. And you finally, finally pull your cock up toward your navel. Unfiltered, your sigh of relief is coughed out. So much better.
Only, Sasuke mistakes your urgency for something else.
Through the erratic thumps in your chest, you hear the rustling of fabric, the burr of a zipper lowering.
You peer through his inky, black hair, watching the rest of Sasuke's body reveal itself. Just for a second; you can't stand to keep your eyes open when he comes back against you, all heat because there's no room for anything else. His crevice rubs along your knuckles from where your hand remains trapped in your pants, and, in turn, your cock spits out more wetness. A tight-lipped moan bursts from your throat as you thrust upward, fingers moving to caress you both.
His hand comes back, impatient, but you beat him to it. Your pants don't require two hands, thankfully, simply a few tugs from each side before they fall away and you're naked from the waist down. You could have pulled your cock through the slit at your crotch and left it at that. The fact that you didn't--you're not going to think about it. There's plenty of time for convincing later.
You both shift. Sasuke inches his way up while you shimmy your way down. You're not sure how you both know this needs to be done, but when you come together, naked, feverish, and perfect, you don't even question it.
Your large hand sprawls out on Sasuke's chest, drawing him fully back against you, loving how his skin slides along your torso even through your shirt. His head tilts back and your nose buries itself in his neck.
He smells the same way you feel: afflicted and out of control. And you get off on the fact that he's just as powerless as you.
Sasuke pushes down with his hips, and you shove forward, skin tingling from the lack of barriers, pleasure curdling somewhere below your gut. You rub yourself between his cheeks, loving how they hug the sides of your cock, squeezing in the most delicious way. Your eyes roll up in their sockets and your lashes tic rhythmically, uncontrollably.
The muscles in his abdomen bunch with tension as your fingers smooth their way down his body. You dip into the little valleys and defined creases that keep everything in place, feel how his skin flexes all around you. Sasuke lacks the emaciated frame of a convicted felon. It helps you forget that he is one.
His hip rests under the inside of your elbow when you reach his pelvic region. You silently press down to feel the bone dig into your skin before letting your hand go to where it's needed. Sasuke practically burns into your palm as you take him in hand. It wouldn't come as a surprise to find a thick stripe of scar tissue later. You probably wouldn't mind, you're already covered with them.
You balance his cock in your grasp, letting the pads of your fingers roam. They stretch downward, following the thick vein along the underside until you find the sac nestled between his thighs. Your pinkie reaches to brush tenderly straight down the middle, tugging slightly against wrinkled skin. On the way back up, you're a little rougher, give a little more pressure, just to feel his hips press forward and his shoulders fall back.
But it's not enough; his breathing is starting to calm while yours is starting to pick up. And that's something you can't have.
You cup him fully, palm squeezing, rolling, and then pressing up to bunch the sac against the base of his cock. Holding it there, you strain to hear the tail-end of a noise escape his lips. Not enough, it's still not enough. So you angle your thumb upward, ascend the twitching column of flesh until you find that patch of nerves below the tip. You swirl the loose skin there in tiny circles, then gradually pick up speed to outpace his steadily-climbing pulse.
He's got his arms in front of him, and you imagine the way he's clutching the edge of your mattress. Fingernails digging in, knuckles blazing white from the force. He's probably got his eyes squeezed shut, too. Just like you. He's just like you, now.
And finally, it's enough.
Between you, his crevice has grown slick with the constant shifting. It's all from you, and as recently as ten minutes ago you would have felt spikes of shame from every direction, but right now all you feel is yes, just like that. Your ass is numb from pushing and rubbing itself against the wall, but it doesn't matter, you keep doing it. Each upward thrust of your hips glides you straight through with ease. Sometimes the head of your dick catches on the tightened muscle of Sasuke's entrance and it makes him moan.
You like the way it sounds. You start to aim for it more and more. The way it snags your flared rim, pulling it slightly as you move, is almost too much. Soon, your thrusts become short, quick stabs, teasing and retreating until the ring begins to loosen.
You aren't aware of just how much until a particularly insistent buck pushes about an inch of you inside his body.
Every muscle you possess locks up and your head suddenly crashes back down on your shoulders. ...Wait--!
But Sasuke doesn't listen, doesn't realize that 'enough' just became 'too much'. Sasuke isn't playing by your rules. Instead he's forcing you to play by his.
He slides further onto you, velvety and hot. He's like a vice, he's strangling you and doesn't give a damn because he pulls off and does it all over again. So tight, and his insides flutter around you as he takes you deeper.
It has to hurt--it has to--but he's grunting and panting like it doesn't matter. Like it's not about what's happening physically. But you need it to be about the physical, need him to share that perspective, because anything else can't be allowed.
So you start to move against him slowly, try to counteract his roughness. You need to make this good, to make whatever's going on in his head disappear...and hopefully never come back.
It works, his demeanor changes after a few moments of calculated cautiousness. The tendons in his neck soften. His spine abandons its arch to slump back against you. Those short, stuttered sounds grow longer, less pronounced and he stops moving, let's you take over. Trusts you to handle this.
You'll do your best.
He's softened fractionally beneath your hand, but it isn't long before he's back, riding your palm and likely dripping all over your sheets.
You take this time to push in all the way from behind; feeling him pressed so close makes you break out in a cold sweat. Just an inch, you slide out, and then you're right back where you were, maybe a little deeper. The moan slips off your tongue before you can stop it.
Another rumbles out when Sasuke tilts his hips back, holding you inside that suffocating passage. You forget about trying to shut your mouth.
He pitches forward while you ease back. And the collision, this time, is much rougher, wilder...perhaps more so from your end. You know from the way he is knocked an extra inch across the sheets. The gap between you closes in a matter of seconds; you're finally able to disengage from the wall. Rhythm is no longer an awkward shuffle, the rigid movements blending into something more fluid and thorough.
Your knees bend, feet rolling with the wall and toes digging in because you need to use every chance of leverage available, because it's gorgeous the way he howls when you curl your body just right. Between breaths, the smack of skin on skin roars loud in your ears, but cannot entirely eclipse your spasmodic heartbeat. It's frantic, ready to give out at any second.
That doesn't stop you from driving in harder and harder. It doesn't deter your hand on its path through stiff pubic hair, sliding to palm the strong flesh of Sasuke's thigh. You waste no time in hooking your arm around his leg, lifting it up to hover atop your bodies. His ass spreads wider, you feel the minute difference in pressure rippling around your cock, and your body subsequently tenses everywhere possible. All five fingers clench around the back and sides of his knee; you slow to a tentative grind until the impending threat dies away. Sasuke doesn't mind.
Sasuke doesn't mind because he knows what's coming next.
Slowly, agonizingly, you withdraw. Every nerve in your body ignites, flocking to where he's fastened so fiercely around you, clamping to hold you in, reluctant to let go. The sensation is forceful enough to dismantle the strongest of your reservations, not that you have many left.
Breathe.
Pause.
Slam.
So precise, and--fuck, oh fuck, he doesn't think you hear that sound coming out of his mouth, but you do. Oh god, you do. Unlike anything you've ever experienced because it's a noise only Sasuke can make. And you need to hear it over and over until it's branded into your memory.
What's unexpected, however, is the way his body turns, shoulders swiveling and gasps angling toward the ceiling. And you can't help gazing into his face, finding his eyes squeezed shut, lids crinkled, and lashes stabbing into cheekbones. The new position must have changed something because you see the way his bottom lip quivers with every jolt of your hips. There aren't words to describe the way it affects you.
Your hand is slipping on his leg, grip failing, but it goes unnoticed--his pale, angular, uninhibited face all you can concentrate on.
And you're pathetic, struck with the urge to lean over and take those lips. A kiss with Sasuke was likely all teeth and no tongue, with too much force and not enough tact--a kiss with Sasuke wouldn't be a kiss at all.
There's absolutely nothing to gain from it. But you don't care, your tongue has already swiped along your bottom lip and your free hand is tugging your mask down past your ear.
The fabric creeps steadily down your nose as you continue to plow into him, watching his chin drop down a little further, catching a glimpse of canines whenever his top lip raises in an almost-snarl.
You haven't kissed anyone since you were fourteen, and have no idea why you're just remembering this now.
Your mask halts at the tip of your nose, suddenly indecisive. For a split second--overlooked by Sasuke, who continues to arch back against you--you stop moving altogether.
Only a second, and then you're back, repeatedly pushing into him, harsh and unevenly, hoping to distract you both because your mask is down and you're about to do something infinitely more reckless...
Except Sasuke chooses that exact moment to roll back over, completely unaware of the simultaneous gratitude and disappointment flooding your system. He reaches to stroke himself, probably feels the way your thrusts have faltered, but says nothing.
And you don't wait for him to, either. Your grip reinforces itself on his leg and you focus on shoving the both of you toward the release you seek, being sure to submerge yourself back into the physical because you'll be damned if you slip up a second time.
The rumpled mask is jerked back up sharply, crookedly realigning across your cheeks. It's damp and cold, but you decline to notice.
A dull ache seems to ripple from behind your left eye, and a less intelligent man would think it real. But, you know better. You know better, yet that doesn't keep the phantom pain from intensifying. It hits you in potent waves, something you haven't experienced in months. Too much, it's overwhelming, it burns, and you squeeze your eyes shut for the last time, vowing not to open them again until this is all over.
And, if Sasuke's involuntary convulsions and jerky arm movements are anything to go by, that time is quickly approaching.
This comes as a relief because your senses have heightened to the extreme, warmth is pooling between your hips, and you honestly can't take much more.
You've been wobbling at the edge of this cliff for what feels like days. Your blood has never stopped rushing since finding him at your door. Even now, you can't stop recalling those late nights...when you just couldn't get that face out of your head...when you would lay staring up at the ceiling and let your mind wander to places it should never go, all because he finally gave you eye contact during that third visit to his cell. Tossing you that look he has, the same one that's brought you to shuddering completion on more than one occasion.
Like three days ago.
...And it's unnerving, the things you're willing to admit when you're this close to coming. To escape further revelations, you move faster.
His back goes ramrod-straight, muscles steeling against your forehead, and you reach over just in time, letting his leg drop to stroke that hard, sputtering cock with everything you have.
Sasuke starts to moan, barely gets the first syllable out before his voice breaks, and then he's left gasping like his lungs are closing in on themselves, like your sloppy, messy thrusting is the only thing reminding him to breathe. And somehow, those raspy whispers hit you harder than a moan ever could.
He coats your hand, the hot fluid smearing all over and between your fingers that still race up and down, loose-fisted and oblivious because all you can focus on is the ecstasy shooting down your spine, gathering in a concentrated bundle at the base of your cock. Growing, escalating, until it surges up and out, pumping harshly into that still-writhing, still-clenching body.
You feel your face contort, grimacing and wincing, toes curling so hard that some of them pop because this feeling--this euphoria--is making colors flash behind your eyelids, making you bite hard into your lip to keep your mouth shut. Never have you been one to call out a name in orgasm, this time being no different. But, in your head, it's deafening how loudly you say it.
Sasuke. Sasuke. Sasuke.
The next few seconds seem unreal. Your heart pounds, your lungs hitch, and your crotch tingles with semi-pleasant aftershocks, but outwardly you're motionless. So is he. And for a moment, you think you'll be okay.
But then, his body pulls away and you can't be more wrong.
You feel him roll over onto his back, bothered by how he makes no move to gather his clothing. This--laying in soiled sheets, feeling the sweat drying on your body, being this close to someone while your cock softens--is something you could never deal with. You're always the first to roll out of bed, always ready to suggest a quick shower, always the one with somewhere to be afterward.
Temptation beckons you to hop right over him because it's what you normally do; it's a subtle hint that gets the other person moving if lingering occurs. Except Sasuke is still fully naked, hasn't even reached for the blankets, and you're not exactly ready to confront that head-on yet.
Although you're kind of forced to when he turns his head, hair swishing on your pillow. His breaths flow evenly across your eyelids and you know they won't go away until you look at him.
And so, only because you have to, you slide an eye open.
His hair's a mess, choppy bangs sideswept and glued to his forehead, and the after-sex flush still hasn't completely left his face--he looks years younger than when he first came here--but his otherwise judgmental look catches you off guard.
Right now, this is the last thing you need. Right now...it's probably what you deserve. You gaze calmly back at him; you'll let him throw the blame on you, you'll let him cast away his own responsibility, and you'll accept it because...maybe there are bits of sensei still left in you somewhere.
But then, he squints a little, focuses more, and you realize he's not staring at you. Just slightly, his eyes veer off to the left, steady in their observation. He's mentally tracing your scar up and down, and you'd say he appears troubled...but it's probably just his natural Sasuke look.
His lips press together, mouth corners tugging into a frown, and the pink finally fades from his cheeks. "I already know about it, you don't have to hide it."
Ever presumptuous, he doesn't even stop for a second to think it's not about him, that maybe, just maybe, it's about you. It's about you and your unbreakable habits, it's about there no longer being a reason to even acknowledge that part of your face...it's about your reflection still giving you the creeps when you expect to see red and are met with tortured black.
Yeah, you're still getting used to that...
Although, there is a small glimmer of amusement--and maybe a smaller glimmer of relief--when you notice Sasuke is no better at reading you now than he was back then. You've still got the upper hand, here, even if he's good at convincing you otherwise. That makes you relax a little, grants you that bit of familiarity you need.
Sasuke hasn't changed that much. He still has that tyrannical desire to be right. And you still possess the supreme urge to prove him wrong.
That's why your other eye pops open so nonchalantly. You revel in that barely-there scowl as he's forced to rethink things.
But, it's just as soon replaced with an expression of masked intrigue. He tilts his head, leans a little closer, and for a second you think he's going to reach out. You'd prefer he didn't. And maybe he is a little better at reading you because his arm remains glued to his side.
He then rolls back over to stare up at the ceiling, either unaware or uncaring of how your good eye takes in the milky droplets spattered across his skin.
Your face grows hot when it simultaneously reminds you of the sticky substance still coating your fingers. Unconsciously, you wipe them along the edge of the sheet just as he speaks again.
"You know...you're the only reason I got released so fast. It's because of your--" he pauses like he's trying to find the correct wording, like he doesn't want to say the wrong thing and set you off, "Konoha wants a Sharingan user on the front-line in the upcoming war. The council knows I'm all they've got left. My sentence was shortened as a bribe."
None of this comes as a surprise; Konoha had sustained many casualties over the years...yourself included. Things, as of now, were looking pretty grim.
It takes you a second to find your voice, and when you do it comes out thicker than you'd anticipated, "Hm, your freedom in exchange for your loyalty."
He scoffs. "Loyalty is something I haven't felt for years. It's not just going to come back."
Despite those words, he doesn't sound very certain.
"Everything comes back with time," you assure him. It's not a lie because you've been there, but you won't go into detail. "You just have to want it to happen."
"Yeah," he agrees. And it's a start. "I know...there's a part of me that does, but--"
"But you need to be convinced." And things are starting to make sense. Why he came here. Why his eyes flickered distractedly around your apartment like it was his first time inside...
"I was looking for something to remind me," he lets out a loose laugh--a type of bitter, scornful chuckle that you've heard plenty of times before, "of how things were before I left."
Both of you are aware of just how impossible that is. Too much has happened. But still, Sasuke is trying to remember. Even now, when his teammates are too buried in S-rank missions to come home, when the entire district he grew up in has been burned to the ground...even when his old sensei is a shadow of his former self, Sasuke is still trying to find something to tie past and present together.
It's a foreign concept to you. The only way you have ever been able to move forward is by leaving everything else behind. "What if I can't do that for you, Sasuke?"
You're steady in your indifference, but you can't stop the guilt because you know he came to the wrong person. You understand, now, that Sasuke came here hoping everything would be preserved, never expecting to find your walls repainted, your furniture gone and replaced. He had no idea your home would transform so greatly from the place in his memory. All because that's your method.
You cope through denial; you never wanted the memories.
Yet here they are being shoved in your face, and you can't find it in yourself to look away.
Especially when you see the smallest smile tug at his lips, his eyes sliding over to meet yours. "You've done a lot more than you give yourself credit for."
The conversation tapers off from there, and your head and chest feel significantly heavier. You're just tired, you figure, or maybe you'll come up with something closer to the truth once you've slept.
Sasuke makes it back to his apartment without incident, which is highly suspicious. But, somehow it all makes sense a few hours later when Tenzou shows up at your door. He's indirect with his wording, though his eyes tell you everything you need to know. You thank him sincerely for covering your ass and he grumbles, then accepts it. When his quiet offer to deliver a message arises, you politely decline.
You're thinking about dropping in uninvited.