[Fic] "Just a Pup"
Title: Just a Pup
Author: a_lifestyle
Fandom: Naruto (Asuma/Kurenai, Kiba/Kurenai)
Rating: NC-17 (Sex, language.)
Words: 3,793
Summary:
A/N: This is not beta'd, so there is a very large possibility that there will be mistakes, of which I apologize for in advance. That being said, I'm in the market for a new beta, as my previous beta has become quite a busy thing! If anyone can point me in a helpful direction, I would greatly appreciate!
For now, enjoy the unbeta'dness! I hope it's not too unreadable...D:
Just a Pup
Kiba was once twelve and high on his immortality. He wakes up early in the morning, and goes to bed when his body refuses to carry itself any longer. He thinks the world of his team, and he knows he is one of the best of his generation. Brash, cocky, heart on his sleeve, he ignores his ever-present vulnerability and lives at full speed.
He looks up to her, the leader of their motley crew, who always seemed like the most level-headed of her generation (Hatake Kakashi is a known psychopath, and that chain-smoking baboon is going to kill off all his students with his addiction before they make chuunin). She spends equal parts training their bodies and molding their hearts to be extraordinary.
He watches her sculpt Shino’s awkward hands into the correct seals, over and over until he gets them right, not a flinch as his bugs slip in between their fingers. He watches her pat Hinata on the head when the Hyuuga heiress lands hit after hit, demolishing a dummy made of hay and cloth into dust particles.
She kneels down to pet Akamaru. She and Kiba are face to face now, and she tells him that she is nominating him and the rest of his team for the chuunin exam. He beams as she punches him playfully, ruffling his hair. She is beautiful, and she believes in him.
He leaves training that day, soaring. Kurenai waves after him, his legs wild and kicking, howling along with Akamaru. She laughs to herself, bending over to pick up a forgotten tennis ball. She’d have to remember it tomorrow. She feels a prickle along her spine, and the smell of tobacco falls over her in a wave, warming her insides. She steps back into his embrace.
“Glad to see your kids so happy,” Asuma says, his voice low and full.
“Yeah,” she says, leaning her neck back. He drags his lips lightly along her jawline, and she is honey. He runs his hands slowly through her silken hair.
“They really look up to you, you know,” he said, fingers pressing into her hips, across the valley of her stomach. “You know, you’d be an amazing mother-“
She sealed her lips to his before he could say any more-she would repeat only so many times to him, and her heart, that she wanted to be in her child’s future, and the shinobi way of life was not conducive to this idea. It was a tired conversation, and instead of rushing into children, she’d rather have all the time in the world to love him. Because in this moment, their world was small and divine and stretched for aeons to come.
She pulled away and smiled, tucking Akamaru’s ball into her pack. She felt a sharp tug and she fell to the ground on top of Asuma, laughing. She was always laughing in this world of theirs.
Against her greater judgment, she is falling in love with him, and she makes the mistake of falling full force. She wraps her legs around him, and she smiles when their lips press together.
Akamaru’s ball has disappeared from her pack, but it would be a fragment of a memory the following day.
When Kiba is defeated by dead last, he is hot-headed and angry, a spitting, crackling inferno of guilt. He has betrayed his body, his team, and, most of all, her. He is alone in the hospital, and the tears are hot, running down his face. Akamaru lies on his left side, warming his shoulder and providing a tiny, rough tongue to lick the tears away. Kiba knows that Akamaru shares many of his pains, but knew the pup could not understand one of them. He turns his head away, and Akamaru whimpers.
“He just wants for you to feel better,” Kurenai says softly, her voice falling over him like a warm blanket.
“I know, sensei.” He closed his eyes.
She sits by the window he faces, leaning forward and resting her elbows on the bed beside him. She takes her hand in his. His fingernails still have grime embedded under them, and it bothers him.
“You know, I’ve never had a dog.”
He blinks and looks up at her. “Never?”
“No, never. When you’re friends with Kakashi-sensei, though, it’s kind of unnecessary.” She smiles. “It must be nice to know you always have a friend that expects only your love, and nothing more.”
Kiba lowers his eyes. His failure today is apparent on his body as well as in his thoughts. She gives him a light punch to the shoulder, careful for his injuries.
“Tuck your lip back into your face. You made me so, so proud today.”
“But I lost! And I lost to Naruto of all people.”
“Naruto has…his weaknesses,” she says, a small smile curling her lips. She has a flash of a memory, turning her nose up at a certain chain-smoking thirteen-year old. “But, what he also has is strength of heart, the will to fight, and a strong sense of teamwork. Those are all things that make him a strong ninja. He has made good choices, and unfortunate mistakes, just like all of us. This was one day out of many that you’ll have to prove yourself.”
“I’m sorry, Kurenai-sensei,” he says finally.
“For what? Stinkin’ up the place? Honestly, you smell awful. Don’t they at least sponge-bathe around here?” She tilts her head; her nose crinkles a little when she smiles.
“That’s not me! That’s Akamaru!”
Akamaru growls, and the sterile room fills with their laughter and warmth. Another day, another opportunity, she says, and already he feels a little better.
That night, she arrives home and begins to peel off her jounin vest. Her bones ache, but her heart swells. She walks into the bedroom, the smell of sweet tobacco in the air. His silhouette is framed by the moonlight from the open window. He is all angles and rock and power, and his presence makes her stomach flutter.
“What a day, huh?” Asuma says, his low whisper wrapping around her curves, pulling her closer to him with each discarded item of clothing.
“What a day,” she echoes. She slides into the cool sheets beside him.
“Any regrets?” he asks, thrusting the cigarette box in her direction.
“About what? Nominating my kids? Of course not.” She runs the rough pads of her fingers over his arm until they reach his hand, and she chooses a cigarette for herself. “Even if none of them make chuunin, they fought like hell out there and kept each other alive.” She leans toward him, the lighter illuminating her soft features. She takes one, two puffs, and exhales. “There’s always next year.”
“Hm.” The air is stale. It always is. “Maybe it was too soon for mine. They’ve got guts, I’ll give ‘em that.”
“The Nara kid is pretty impressive.” The moonlight washes over her bare shoulders. Asuma’s hand squeezes her thigh and gently makes circles against her tight, worn muscles with his thumb. She inhales deeply.
“Yeah,” he agrees, butting out his cigarette. “His laziness is also impressive, but I think he’s got a shot. His parents are good ninja.”
She exhales, smoke filling the room. “Damn.”
“What?” he asks. His eyes are half-lidded and her bare, creamy skin was becoming too tempting.
“Tastes good today.” She brings the filter to her lips again. The remaining plum of her lipstick is rubbed off with each puff.
“What would your mother say if she knew you smoked?” he teased, giving her thigh another squeeze.
“Shut up, it’s not like it’s every night,” she says, laugh lines at the corners of her eyes. “Sometimes the taste is good. The kind you get, it’s a little sweet. At least I can taste things still.”
He snorts. “I don’t smoke for the taste, but I know what’s sweet.” He grins and flips on top of her, pulling her down so her back hits the bed. Her hair fans out beneath her and she laughs. A rather loud giggle erupts from her mouth as he fastens his lips around her nipple.
“You’ve never been a screamer,” he says, winking at her. Their eyes connect and she falls in love all over again.
“Don’t be so stupid,” she says, grinning. She takes one more drag, and butts out the cigarette.
He flips her onto her stomach; the weight of his body on top encompasses her. She stretches languidly, trembling deliciously as she feels his erection trail down the crack of her ass. Her breasts pressed against the sheets, she lifts her ass in the air, her leg muscles rippling.
He enters her, one large hand pressed firmly to her lower back. She sighs, her long fingers gripping the pillow.
A shiver shoots down his back, and he watches himself slide in and out of her. She shuts her eyes tight, and her mouth is dry, silently screaming. He is thick and she feels him fill her inch by inch, faster and faster.
She reaches back with one hand, and he takes it, pulling himself on top of her so that his chest presses against her back, driving into her hard. She is almost suffocating, but she doesn’t notice, the penetration deep and exquisite.
Her eyes are closed, and she is consumed by him, so she doesn’t notice a phantom of movement outside her window.
When Kiba is sixteen, he begins to look like a man. His father shows him how to shave, and all his pants’ hems are above his ankles. One day, he is watching Hinata fly through the air, Byakugan activated and fists bared, and his shoulders stiffen. Hormones abound, the air smells of something different, making his chest constrict.
He scoffs, shaking his body out. His eyebrows furrow and he lies back in the grass. Just instincts, he thinks. He rubs his chin-a bit of stubble here and there, this shaving thing is new, after all-and his eyes fall upon the Hyuuga heiress again. He doesn’t understand why he’s so tense.
Kurenai watches her oblivious teenagers and chuckles a bit to herself. She smiles sadly-Hinata only has eyes for the Uzumaki boy, and she sees the early signs of a broken heart. Maybe two. She sits on the ground, blades of grass making her legs itch, next to a boy and his dog. The heat is brutal; Akamaru licks the sweat off her shoulders. She smiles, and inadvertently puts her hand over her belly.
“When were you going to tell us?” he asks her, plainly.
She looks down at him, his eyes intense but not threatening. If she stares a little longer, she would find a hint of sadness, but the sun is much too bright.
“About what?” she says. Akamaru whines and noses her arm out of the way. She lifts the offending arm and he sniffs the hem of her dress.
“You’re gonna have a pup,” Kiba says.
She cannot stop her eyes from widening, but she corrects her mistake and pushes Akamaru out from under her dress. “Stop, Akamaru.” He immediately retreats and sits beside her proudly. “Yes, I am.”
“Were you gonna tell us?” Kiba asks.
She sighs. “Yes, of course. I obviously can’t hide it forever, so what would be the point?”
Kiba nods; what little he can, he understands. “Akamaru told me a week ago.”
“I haven’t told Asuma-sensei yet. The father.”
Kiba nods again, slowly this time. She takes his hand, and he holds onto it tight.
“Can we keep this a secret? Just between the two-er-“ she glances at Akamaru, and scratches his large, shaggy head, “-the three of us?”
Kiba stares. “Yeah,” he says. “What do you think Asuma-sensei will say?”
She watches Hinata take off her jacket-the heat must be unbearable-and stand in the middle of the training grounds, mesh shirt and bindings covering her ample chest. Her mostly bare back is slick with sweat and she folds her jacket carefully in a pile next to her pack. “I think he will be very, very happy. He’s wanted children for as long as I can remember.”
Kiba grunts. “He’s gonna kill ‘em, with all that smoking.”
Kurenai laughs. “Well, he did tell me he would quit if I were to get pregnant. He’ll keep that promise, or I’ll give him a piece of my mind.” She looks over at him, expecting laughter, but she sees his sharp eyes flicker over to Hinata’s newly bare skin, her stomach muscles flexing as she takes her next stance.
“Are you scared?” he asks.
There is no eye contact, so she doesn’t answer. The air hangs between them as thick as the humidity. She feels a bead of sweat trickle down her back, and she shifts uncomfortably. Hinata lands a difficult dismount, and her pants slide down a bit to reveal the curve of her hip; Kiba sucks in a breath.
“Can I tell you something?” Kurenai says softly. “Wait for her awhile, okay?”
Kiba doesn’t turn to her, but she knows his ears are perked and open.
“When you’re young, your heart can change. Sometimes, waiting is the best thing to do, save yourself unnecessary pain.”
He nods; he is used to waiting.
Kurenai stands, and she offers her hand. Kiba takes it, and they take cover in the shade. Hinata sees them and waves.
When Kurenai returns home, she is exhausted. She showers, and steps out in front of the mirror, towel-drying her hair. She touches her belly tentatively.
Anko had wanted to go out tonight, so she walks into the closet, the air of the house already hot, making her skin clammy. Something short, something tight; it’d be awhile, if ever, before she wears something like this again.
Shikamaru knocks on her door, and time stops. She and her theory of waiting collapses.
After the funeral, she lies in bed, dark robe contrasting against her pale skin. It rains outside, but she keeps the window open because of the smoke. The ashtray is overflowing, and her lungs are full of toxins. It burns her throat as she takes drag after drag, but the rest of her body is numb. She isn’t sure if it feels good or not.
She takes another pull and speaks, her voice hollow. “I know you’re there, Kiba. You can come in if you want.”
He lands silently on her window sill, and sits, legs dangling over the side. “Sorry, sensei. I was worried about you. And your pup.” He rubs his extra-sensitive nose with his forefinger, looking down at his big feet. “Sorry, my nose…you know…”
She has caught him off guard, and she has never seen a bundle of “sorry”s look so precious; a smile wants to tug the corners of her mouth wide, the weight of what he has said makes her face remain static. “He left one cigarette on the side-table,” she explains.
“It’s probably not good for the pup,” mumbled Kiba. “But what do I know.”
She watches the paper burn in slow rings. “This is a first for me, too. I was counting on having a partner to help me through it a little.” Smoke rises and curls around her unchanging eyes, strangling what life is left in them.
“I can stay here for awhile.” His eyes bore into her. She looks at him through wisps of smoke and sees a stone stare. His voice doesn’t waver, and he doesn’t blink. The conviction in his body is a revelation to her. He is a man.
Yet, his ruffled hair does not escape her eyes. His tattoos are blaring red and glow at nighttime on the dusty pink cheeks of his face. His broad torso rests upon quick, skinny legs, and, god. He is sixteen.
“If you want,” he adds. “If you don’t mind.”
He’s babbling and she says nothing, just nods. Her eyes shift to the filter she holds in her hand, burnt out on its own. She lets it fall from her fingers into the ashtray of its dead relatives. Tonight, it didn’t taste good at all.
The seasons change and disappear the moment they arrive. He is taller than her now, and has to duck profusely to enter through her window. He fixes her roof in the summer heat, knows her favorite take-out orders, and throws her child birthday parties.
The moment this kind of life began, she knows it must stop. One night she puts the baby to bed, and she walks into her room, bare feet cold and sturdy against the wood floor. Kiba is by the window as always. He has stayed with her until she is asleep since that day three years ago.
Kurenai knows that he has been watching her for the greater part of ten years. All his senses are acute and strong. She is a powerful, quiet force that knows too well the consequences of patience.
“She’s fast asleep,” she says. She yawns and leans down to kiss his forehead. “Thank you for everything.”
In the past, Kiba always responds with a nod or a blush. But, he stares at her now with the wisdom of older eyes, and she stops breathing. The room is thick with emotion and flesh, divided by before and after.
She makes the first move and, closing her eyes, she leans back down to taste his lips. At first, he stiffens, but recovers quickly. His long eyelashes flutter shut. The sky is cloudy tonight, and it is almost pitch black when she opens her eyes, pulling away from him. Her eyes are desperate to adjust to the dark and find his.
When they do, she sees full force the hunger that has attempted to hide itself for all these years, with a hint of apology behind them; for pain and love are woven tightly in the same fabric, and they both know this well. He kisses her again, this time with the need of ten years of waiting. She responds in kind, her hands coming up to brush through his thick, messy hair. They both have an urgency; his has been lifelong, and hers began with the death of her greatest love.
Kiba isn’t brave enough to touch her at first, so she helps. Guiding his hands to her hips, he catches on quickly and rubs his thumbs against soft skin. He parts her robe and it falls easily to the floor, revealing all of her to him. He presses his nose to her stomach and inhales deeply, running his fingers along her lower back and making her entire body quake.
He stands, towers above her, and peels off his shirt, exposing distinct shoulders and strong arms that remind her that the way time passes is staggering. In a moment, he is in her bed, on top of her and between her legs, supporting himself on his knees as she undoes his belt. Their kisses are frantic and meaningful. He smells like something her heart has missed, and her flavor is something his mind is too human to understand.
He kicks off his pants, and he immediately presses himself against her, eliciting strangled noises from both their throats as their skin meets. He paws at her breasts as she claws at his back, pulling him closer to her as his tongue darts across her clavicle. He inhales deeply again. He pushes her forward and drags his tongue down her body from collarbone to navel. Her spine arches so deeply it could snap.
Her hands find his hair and she blushes deeply, suddenly shy. He is taking his time with her, and she knows it, studying her like a map, training his body to react in kind to hers. Their history is paved in the perspiration of their bodies. He leans down to taste her, tongue swirling around her clit and her eyes close, incoherent moans spilling from her lips. Each noise out of her mouth makes his heart palpitate and his groin tighten.
He laps at her skin; her taste is strong and overwhelming. His tongue is inside her, and she buckles under the intensity, coming in wave after wave. He groans against her, her legs convulsing. He could die now, knowing and feeling what it was like to see her raw. Whimpers rip through her throat, and god, when did he get so brave? When did he get so goddamn brave to make a woman out of a widow, when no one else would dare?
He is desperate now to share her release, and settles between her legs, holding his body above hers with a trembling arm. He looks at her then. Her eyes steadfast, and it’s the approval he seeks, for no face is dishonest in the dark. He enters her, and the heat is excruciatingly sweet. He whimpers and moans as he takes her; her sighs are like faint music in the frenzy of his desire. There is a roughness and a tenderness in the way he moves within her that lights a fire in the pit of her stomach.
With every deep thrust, her hips are propelled into the bed, easily taking his force. She responds by sealing her mouth to the juncture of his neck and shoulder. He growls, drives into her harder. He wants her, wants all of her, and she is here with him, and he could cry because he doesn’t have to wait any longer. Her body screams for release, and when she comes, she feels her nerve endings spark. His thrusts become erratic, and he presses his lips to hers, jerking as he comes inside her warmth.
That night he holds her for the first time. When she wakes up, she feels his arms around her still. Her heart stops when she opens her eyes fully and they fall upon the ashtray on the side-table.
Between guilt and yearning, Kurenai goes to Kiba at nighttime, and he makes her full. She wonders how many years of pain she will work through in order to postpone the minutes of the days, just for a little while. She wonders how this boy, just a pup a moment ago, has salvaged what little was left of her happiness and created a world she wanted to be part of again.
Kiba is prepared for the inevitable end. He knows from the minute he witnessed the two of them fucking on the training grounds, that he will always be second best. For the amount of times and ways that she has saved his life, she feels the tangible absence of another man, still.
-end-
Author: a_lifestyle
Fandom: Naruto (Asuma/Kurenai, Kiba/Kurenai)
Rating: NC-17 (Sex, language.)
Words: 3,793
Summary:
A/N: This is not beta'd, so there is a very large possibility that there will be mistakes, of which I apologize for in advance. That being said, I'm in the market for a new beta, as my previous beta has become quite a busy thing! If anyone can point me in a helpful direction, I would greatly appreciate!
For now, enjoy the unbeta'dness! I hope it's not too unreadable...D:
Just a Pup
Kiba was once twelve and high on his immortality. He wakes up early in the morning, and goes to bed when his body refuses to carry itself any longer. He thinks the world of his team, and he knows he is one of the best of his generation. Brash, cocky, heart on his sleeve, he ignores his ever-present vulnerability and lives at full speed.
He looks up to her, the leader of their motley crew, who always seemed like the most level-headed of her generation (Hatake Kakashi is a known psychopath, and that chain-smoking baboon is going to kill off all his students with his addiction before they make chuunin). She spends equal parts training their bodies and molding their hearts to be extraordinary.
He watches her sculpt Shino’s awkward hands into the correct seals, over and over until he gets them right, not a flinch as his bugs slip in between their fingers. He watches her pat Hinata on the head when the Hyuuga heiress lands hit after hit, demolishing a dummy made of hay and cloth into dust particles.
She kneels down to pet Akamaru. She and Kiba are face to face now, and she tells him that she is nominating him and the rest of his team for the chuunin exam. He beams as she punches him playfully, ruffling his hair. She is beautiful, and she believes in him.
He leaves training that day, soaring. Kurenai waves after him, his legs wild and kicking, howling along with Akamaru. She laughs to herself, bending over to pick up a forgotten tennis ball. She’d have to remember it tomorrow. She feels a prickle along her spine, and the smell of tobacco falls over her in a wave, warming her insides. She steps back into his embrace.
“Glad to see your kids so happy,” Asuma says, his voice low and full.
“Yeah,” she says, leaning her neck back. He drags his lips lightly along her jawline, and she is honey. He runs his hands slowly through her silken hair.
“They really look up to you, you know,” he said, fingers pressing into her hips, across the valley of her stomach. “You know, you’d be an amazing mother-“
She sealed her lips to his before he could say any more-she would repeat only so many times to him, and her heart, that she wanted to be in her child’s future, and the shinobi way of life was not conducive to this idea. It was a tired conversation, and instead of rushing into children, she’d rather have all the time in the world to love him. Because in this moment, their world was small and divine and stretched for aeons to come.
She pulled away and smiled, tucking Akamaru’s ball into her pack. She felt a sharp tug and she fell to the ground on top of Asuma, laughing. She was always laughing in this world of theirs.
Against her greater judgment, she is falling in love with him, and she makes the mistake of falling full force. She wraps her legs around him, and she smiles when their lips press together.
Akamaru’s ball has disappeared from her pack, but it would be a fragment of a memory the following day.
When Kiba is defeated by dead last, he is hot-headed and angry, a spitting, crackling inferno of guilt. He has betrayed his body, his team, and, most of all, her. He is alone in the hospital, and the tears are hot, running down his face. Akamaru lies on his left side, warming his shoulder and providing a tiny, rough tongue to lick the tears away. Kiba knows that Akamaru shares many of his pains, but knew the pup could not understand one of them. He turns his head away, and Akamaru whimpers.
“He just wants for you to feel better,” Kurenai says softly, her voice falling over him like a warm blanket.
“I know, sensei.” He closed his eyes.
She sits by the window he faces, leaning forward and resting her elbows on the bed beside him. She takes her hand in his. His fingernails still have grime embedded under them, and it bothers him.
“You know, I’ve never had a dog.”
He blinks and looks up at her. “Never?”
“No, never. When you’re friends with Kakashi-sensei, though, it’s kind of unnecessary.” She smiles. “It must be nice to know you always have a friend that expects only your love, and nothing more.”
Kiba lowers his eyes. His failure today is apparent on his body as well as in his thoughts. She gives him a light punch to the shoulder, careful for his injuries.
“Tuck your lip back into your face. You made me so, so proud today.”
“But I lost! And I lost to Naruto of all people.”
“Naruto has…his weaknesses,” she says, a small smile curling her lips. She has a flash of a memory, turning her nose up at a certain chain-smoking thirteen-year old. “But, what he also has is strength of heart, the will to fight, and a strong sense of teamwork. Those are all things that make him a strong ninja. He has made good choices, and unfortunate mistakes, just like all of us. This was one day out of many that you’ll have to prove yourself.”
“I’m sorry, Kurenai-sensei,” he says finally.
“For what? Stinkin’ up the place? Honestly, you smell awful. Don’t they at least sponge-bathe around here?” She tilts her head; her nose crinkles a little when she smiles.
“That’s not me! That’s Akamaru!”
Akamaru growls, and the sterile room fills with their laughter and warmth. Another day, another opportunity, she says, and already he feels a little better.
That night, she arrives home and begins to peel off her jounin vest. Her bones ache, but her heart swells. She walks into the bedroom, the smell of sweet tobacco in the air. His silhouette is framed by the moonlight from the open window. He is all angles and rock and power, and his presence makes her stomach flutter.
“What a day, huh?” Asuma says, his low whisper wrapping around her curves, pulling her closer to him with each discarded item of clothing.
“What a day,” she echoes. She slides into the cool sheets beside him.
“Any regrets?” he asks, thrusting the cigarette box in her direction.
“About what? Nominating my kids? Of course not.” She runs the rough pads of her fingers over his arm until they reach his hand, and she chooses a cigarette for herself. “Even if none of them make chuunin, they fought like hell out there and kept each other alive.” She leans toward him, the lighter illuminating her soft features. She takes one, two puffs, and exhales. “There’s always next year.”
“Hm.” The air is stale. It always is. “Maybe it was too soon for mine. They’ve got guts, I’ll give ‘em that.”
“The Nara kid is pretty impressive.” The moonlight washes over her bare shoulders. Asuma’s hand squeezes her thigh and gently makes circles against her tight, worn muscles with his thumb. She inhales deeply.
“Yeah,” he agrees, butting out his cigarette. “His laziness is also impressive, but I think he’s got a shot. His parents are good ninja.”
She exhales, smoke filling the room. “Damn.”
“What?” he asks. His eyes are half-lidded and her bare, creamy skin was becoming too tempting.
“Tastes good today.” She brings the filter to her lips again. The remaining plum of her lipstick is rubbed off with each puff.
“What would your mother say if she knew you smoked?” he teased, giving her thigh another squeeze.
“Shut up, it’s not like it’s every night,” she says, laugh lines at the corners of her eyes. “Sometimes the taste is good. The kind you get, it’s a little sweet. At least I can taste things still.”
He snorts. “I don’t smoke for the taste, but I know what’s sweet.” He grins and flips on top of her, pulling her down so her back hits the bed. Her hair fans out beneath her and she laughs. A rather loud giggle erupts from her mouth as he fastens his lips around her nipple.
“You’ve never been a screamer,” he says, winking at her. Their eyes connect and she falls in love all over again.
“Don’t be so stupid,” she says, grinning. She takes one more drag, and butts out the cigarette.
He flips her onto her stomach; the weight of his body on top encompasses her. She stretches languidly, trembling deliciously as she feels his erection trail down the crack of her ass. Her breasts pressed against the sheets, she lifts her ass in the air, her leg muscles rippling.
He enters her, one large hand pressed firmly to her lower back. She sighs, her long fingers gripping the pillow.
A shiver shoots down his back, and he watches himself slide in and out of her. She shuts her eyes tight, and her mouth is dry, silently screaming. He is thick and she feels him fill her inch by inch, faster and faster.
She reaches back with one hand, and he takes it, pulling himself on top of her so that his chest presses against her back, driving into her hard. She is almost suffocating, but she doesn’t notice, the penetration deep and exquisite.
Her eyes are closed, and she is consumed by him, so she doesn’t notice a phantom of movement outside her window.
When Kiba is sixteen, he begins to look like a man. His father shows him how to shave, and all his pants’ hems are above his ankles. One day, he is watching Hinata fly through the air, Byakugan activated and fists bared, and his shoulders stiffen. Hormones abound, the air smells of something different, making his chest constrict.
He scoffs, shaking his body out. His eyebrows furrow and he lies back in the grass. Just instincts, he thinks. He rubs his chin-a bit of stubble here and there, this shaving thing is new, after all-and his eyes fall upon the Hyuuga heiress again. He doesn’t understand why he’s so tense.
Kurenai watches her oblivious teenagers and chuckles a bit to herself. She smiles sadly-Hinata only has eyes for the Uzumaki boy, and she sees the early signs of a broken heart. Maybe two. She sits on the ground, blades of grass making her legs itch, next to a boy and his dog. The heat is brutal; Akamaru licks the sweat off her shoulders. She smiles, and inadvertently puts her hand over her belly.
“When were you going to tell us?” he asks her, plainly.
She looks down at him, his eyes intense but not threatening. If she stares a little longer, she would find a hint of sadness, but the sun is much too bright.
“About what?” she says. Akamaru whines and noses her arm out of the way. She lifts the offending arm and he sniffs the hem of her dress.
“You’re gonna have a pup,” Kiba says.
She cannot stop her eyes from widening, but she corrects her mistake and pushes Akamaru out from under her dress. “Stop, Akamaru.” He immediately retreats and sits beside her proudly. “Yes, I am.”
“Were you gonna tell us?” Kiba asks.
She sighs. “Yes, of course. I obviously can’t hide it forever, so what would be the point?”
Kiba nods; what little he can, he understands. “Akamaru told me a week ago.”
“I haven’t told Asuma-sensei yet. The father.”
Kiba nods again, slowly this time. She takes his hand, and he holds onto it tight.
“Can we keep this a secret? Just between the two-er-“ she glances at Akamaru, and scratches his large, shaggy head, “-the three of us?”
Kiba stares. “Yeah,” he says. “What do you think Asuma-sensei will say?”
She watches Hinata take off her jacket-the heat must be unbearable-and stand in the middle of the training grounds, mesh shirt and bindings covering her ample chest. Her mostly bare back is slick with sweat and she folds her jacket carefully in a pile next to her pack. “I think he will be very, very happy. He’s wanted children for as long as I can remember.”
Kiba grunts. “He’s gonna kill ‘em, with all that smoking.”
Kurenai laughs. “Well, he did tell me he would quit if I were to get pregnant. He’ll keep that promise, or I’ll give him a piece of my mind.” She looks over at him, expecting laughter, but she sees his sharp eyes flicker over to Hinata’s newly bare skin, her stomach muscles flexing as she takes her next stance.
“Are you scared?” he asks.
There is no eye contact, so she doesn’t answer. The air hangs between them as thick as the humidity. She feels a bead of sweat trickle down her back, and she shifts uncomfortably. Hinata lands a difficult dismount, and her pants slide down a bit to reveal the curve of her hip; Kiba sucks in a breath.
“Can I tell you something?” Kurenai says softly. “Wait for her awhile, okay?”
Kiba doesn’t turn to her, but she knows his ears are perked and open.
“When you’re young, your heart can change. Sometimes, waiting is the best thing to do, save yourself unnecessary pain.”
He nods; he is used to waiting.
Kurenai stands, and she offers her hand. Kiba takes it, and they take cover in the shade. Hinata sees them and waves.
When Kurenai returns home, she is exhausted. She showers, and steps out in front of the mirror, towel-drying her hair. She touches her belly tentatively.
Anko had wanted to go out tonight, so she walks into the closet, the air of the house already hot, making her skin clammy. Something short, something tight; it’d be awhile, if ever, before she wears something like this again.
Shikamaru knocks on her door, and time stops. She and her theory of waiting collapses.
After the funeral, she lies in bed, dark robe contrasting against her pale skin. It rains outside, but she keeps the window open because of the smoke. The ashtray is overflowing, and her lungs are full of toxins. It burns her throat as she takes drag after drag, but the rest of her body is numb. She isn’t sure if it feels good or not.
She takes another pull and speaks, her voice hollow. “I know you’re there, Kiba. You can come in if you want.”
He lands silently on her window sill, and sits, legs dangling over the side. “Sorry, sensei. I was worried about you. And your pup.” He rubs his extra-sensitive nose with his forefinger, looking down at his big feet. “Sorry, my nose…you know…”
She has caught him off guard, and she has never seen a bundle of “sorry”s look so precious; a smile wants to tug the corners of her mouth wide, the weight of what he has said makes her face remain static. “He left one cigarette on the side-table,” she explains.
“It’s probably not good for the pup,” mumbled Kiba. “But what do I know.”
She watches the paper burn in slow rings. “This is a first for me, too. I was counting on having a partner to help me through it a little.” Smoke rises and curls around her unchanging eyes, strangling what life is left in them.
“I can stay here for awhile.” His eyes bore into her. She looks at him through wisps of smoke and sees a stone stare. His voice doesn’t waver, and he doesn’t blink. The conviction in his body is a revelation to her. He is a man.
Yet, his ruffled hair does not escape her eyes. His tattoos are blaring red and glow at nighttime on the dusty pink cheeks of his face. His broad torso rests upon quick, skinny legs, and, god. He is sixteen.
“If you want,” he adds. “If you don’t mind.”
He’s babbling and she says nothing, just nods. Her eyes shift to the filter she holds in her hand, burnt out on its own. She lets it fall from her fingers into the ashtray of its dead relatives. Tonight, it didn’t taste good at all.
The seasons change and disappear the moment they arrive. He is taller than her now, and has to duck profusely to enter through her window. He fixes her roof in the summer heat, knows her favorite take-out orders, and throws her child birthday parties.
The moment this kind of life began, she knows it must stop. One night she puts the baby to bed, and she walks into her room, bare feet cold and sturdy against the wood floor. Kiba is by the window as always. He has stayed with her until she is asleep since that day three years ago.
Kurenai knows that he has been watching her for the greater part of ten years. All his senses are acute and strong. She is a powerful, quiet force that knows too well the consequences of patience.
“She’s fast asleep,” she says. She yawns and leans down to kiss his forehead. “Thank you for everything.”
In the past, Kiba always responds with a nod or a blush. But, he stares at her now with the wisdom of older eyes, and she stops breathing. The room is thick with emotion and flesh, divided by before and after.
She makes the first move and, closing her eyes, she leans back down to taste his lips. At first, he stiffens, but recovers quickly. His long eyelashes flutter shut. The sky is cloudy tonight, and it is almost pitch black when she opens her eyes, pulling away from him. Her eyes are desperate to adjust to the dark and find his.
When they do, she sees full force the hunger that has attempted to hide itself for all these years, with a hint of apology behind them; for pain and love are woven tightly in the same fabric, and they both know this well. He kisses her again, this time with the need of ten years of waiting. She responds in kind, her hands coming up to brush through his thick, messy hair. They both have an urgency; his has been lifelong, and hers began with the death of her greatest love.
Kiba isn’t brave enough to touch her at first, so she helps. Guiding his hands to her hips, he catches on quickly and rubs his thumbs against soft skin. He parts her robe and it falls easily to the floor, revealing all of her to him. He presses his nose to her stomach and inhales deeply, running his fingers along her lower back and making her entire body quake.
He stands, towers above her, and peels off his shirt, exposing distinct shoulders and strong arms that remind her that the way time passes is staggering. In a moment, he is in her bed, on top of her and between her legs, supporting himself on his knees as she undoes his belt. Their kisses are frantic and meaningful. He smells like something her heart has missed, and her flavor is something his mind is too human to understand.
He kicks off his pants, and he immediately presses himself against her, eliciting strangled noises from both their throats as their skin meets. He paws at her breasts as she claws at his back, pulling him closer to her as his tongue darts across her clavicle. He inhales deeply again. He pushes her forward and drags his tongue down her body from collarbone to navel. Her spine arches so deeply it could snap.
Her hands find his hair and she blushes deeply, suddenly shy. He is taking his time with her, and she knows it, studying her like a map, training his body to react in kind to hers. Their history is paved in the perspiration of their bodies. He leans down to taste her, tongue swirling around her clit and her eyes close, incoherent moans spilling from her lips. Each noise out of her mouth makes his heart palpitate and his groin tighten.
He laps at her skin; her taste is strong and overwhelming. His tongue is inside her, and she buckles under the intensity, coming in wave after wave. He groans against her, her legs convulsing. He could die now, knowing and feeling what it was like to see her raw. Whimpers rip through her throat, and god, when did he get so brave? When did he get so goddamn brave to make a woman out of a widow, when no one else would dare?
He is desperate now to share her release, and settles between her legs, holding his body above hers with a trembling arm. He looks at her then. Her eyes steadfast, and it’s the approval he seeks, for no face is dishonest in the dark. He enters her, and the heat is excruciatingly sweet. He whimpers and moans as he takes her; her sighs are like faint music in the frenzy of his desire. There is a roughness and a tenderness in the way he moves within her that lights a fire in the pit of her stomach.
With every deep thrust, her hips are propelled into the bed, easily taking his force. She responds by sealing her mouth to the juncture of his neck and shoulder. He growls, drives into her harder. He wants her, wants all of her, and she is here with him, and he could cry because he doesn’t have to wait any longer. Her body screams for release, and when she comes, she feels her nerve endings spark. His thrusts become erratic, and he presses his lips to hers, jerking as he comes inside her warmth.
That night he holds her for the first time. When she wakes up, she feels his arms around her still. Her heart stops when she opens her eyes fully and they fall upon the ashtray on the side-table.
Between guilt and yearning, Kurenai goes to Kiba at nighttime, and he makes her full. She wonders how many years of pain she will work through in order to postpone the minutes of the days, just for a little while. She wonders how this boy, just a pup a moment ago, has salvaged what little was left of her happiness and created a world she wanted to be part of again.
Kiba is prepared for the inevitable end. He knows from the minute he witnessed the two of them fucking on the training grounds, that he will always be second best. For the amount of times and ways that she has saved his life, she feels the tangible absence of another man, still.
-end-