The reveal, part 2: Pain/Konan - Bean Bag Chair Kama Sutra
Title: Bean Bag Chair Kama Sutra [1/1]
Fandom: Naruto
Characters/Pairings: Pain/Konan
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Sex, voyerism.
Summary: When Madara operates in his own time zone, Pain and Konan make use of their ridiculous furniture.
Notes: Written for the Naruto Kinkmeme, version 4.0. Prompt was: Pain/Konan having sex on one of their ridiculous bean bag chairs (http://www.onemanga.com/Naruto/407/15/). Preferably right before the meeting with Madara. Bonus points if Madara walks in on them.
Kink: face-sitting.
So much fun to write, hojeeze.
Bean Bag Chair Kama Sutra
Madara operates on his own schedule, hoping to make the people waiting for him uneasy, but Pain and Konan are too aware of this fact to be bothered. When Madara is late, they find their own way of passing the time.
The chairs in this room have too much give to be effective places to make love on. Konan can't quite get enough support to really ride Pain to her satisfaction, but she can roll her hips in a deliberate, intense circle to his. She takes her own pleasure in the way he groans (low, barely audible, something for they two alone) when she squeezes her muscles around him in the rhythm she knows he likes; the way his famous eyes close and his face looks almost pained when he comes inside her.
What the chairs are conducive to is shimmying down under an unsatisfied lover, which Pain does, his cloak scrunching uncomfortably underneath him. He barely notices. He slides his tongue against Konan's clitoris and his eyes up her body. She arches her back at the contact, and he can no longer see her face, but her perfect round breasts are pushed out like an invitation. Pain guides his hands up her body to hold the weight of them in his palms, rolling his thumbs over her nipples through the fishnet shirt she wears. Konan doesn't know quite what to do with her hands--she settles for gripping one of his arms and running her spare hand through the hair at his temple, tracing her fingers along his collection of earrings. He sucks the bundle of nerves between his lips, the piercings on his lips rasp gently against her sensitive flesh, and Konan arches farther and moans outright.
It's at just the moment that she rolls her head back up and begins to curl her hips into Pain's worship when she notices the figure standing in the doorway, obscured because he chose to stand in the shadow. If she's aware of Madara's presence, Pain must be, too, but her lover doesn't stop curling his tongue down through the folds of her labia. She could have pulled away; she doesn't. Her whole body is beginning to feel the tight, coiling pull toward ecstasy and she can't bear to go back.
Madara doesn't frighten her, not when she has a god between her thighs. (Not ever.)
Pain squeezes her breasts, licks her firmly up the length of her sex, and the tension in her suddenly snaps cleanly apart. Konan gasps and shudders, grinding desperately against his mouth as she comes.
It takes them a moment to recover. When they do, neither of them rush to get decent again. Konan takes her time in standing up, adjusting her clothes, running her fingers through her hair. Pain matter-of-factly tucks himself back into his pants, closes his cloak, wipes the last traces of Konan off his mouth. As one, they turn to Madara.
"Shall we begin?" Pain asks, his tone no different than normal.
Fandom: Naruto
Characters/Pairings: Pain/Konan
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Sex, voyerism.
Summary: When Madara operates in his own time zone, Pain and Konan make use of their ridiculous furniture.
Notes: Written for the Naruto Kinkmeme, version 4.0. Prompt was: Pain/Konan having sex on one of their ridiculous bean bag chairs (http://www.onemanga.com/Naruto/407/15/). Preferably right before the meeting with Madara. Bonus points if Madara walks in on them.
Kink: face-sitting.
So much fun to write, hojeeze.
Bean Bag Chair Kama Sutra
Madara operates on his own schedule, hoping to make the people waiting for him uneasy, but Pain and Konan are too aware of this fact to be bothered. When Madara is late, they find their own way of passing the time.
The chairs in this room have too much give to be effective places to make love on. Konan can't quite get enough support to really ride Pain to her satisfaction, but she can roll her hips in a deliberate, intense circle to his. She takes her own pleasure in the way he groans (low, barely audible, something for they two alone) when she squeezes her muscles around him in the rhythm she knows he likes; the way his famous eyes close and his face looks almost pained when he comes inside her.
What the chairs are conducive to is shimmying down under an unsatisfied lover, which Pain does, his cloak scrunching uncomfortably underneath him. He barely notices. He slides his tongue against Konan's clitoris and his eyes up her body. She arches her back at the contact, and he can no longer see her face, but her perfect round breasts are pushed out like an invitation. Pain guides his hands up her body to hold the weight of them in his palms, rolling his thumbs over her nipples through the fishnet shirt she wears. Konan doesn't know quite what to do with her hands--she settles for gripping one of his arms and running her spare hand through the hair at his temple, tracing her fingers along his collection of earrings. He sucks the bundle of nerves between his lips, the piercings on his lips rasp gently against her sensitive flesh, and Konan arches farther and moans outright.
It's at just the moment that she rolls her head back up and begins to curl her hips into Pain's worship when she notices the figure standing in the doorway, obscured because he chose to stand in the shadow. If she's aware of Madara's presence, Pain must be, too, but her lover doesn't stop curling his tongue down through the folds of her labia. She could have pulled away; she doesn't. Her whole body is beginning to feel the tight, coiling pull toward ecstasy and she can't bear to go back.
Madara doesn't frighten her, not when she has a god between her thighs. (Not ever.)
Pain squeezes her breasts, licks her firmly up the length of her sex, and the tension in her suddenly snaps cleanly apart. Konan gasps and shudders, grinding desperately against his mouth as she comes.
It takes them a moment to recover. When they do, neither of them rush to get decent again. Konan takes her time in standing up, adjusting her clothes, running her fingers through her hair. Pain matter-of-factly tucks himself back into his pants, closes his cloak, wipes the last traces of Konan off his mouth. As one, they turn to Madara.
"Shall we begin?" Pain asks, his tone no different than normal.