She's a Druggy
Disclaimer: I don't own Naruto. This is a fan-fiction: "fan" being the key term here.
Warning: Morbid Content and Strong Language. Reader discretion is advised.
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Quick sounds of the cup clattering to the cold floor barely made it to his ears, and he went down fast, dropping like a bag of stones upon the bed. It did not give any romantic swoops. It was a hard thing, and the mattress was made out of the oldest cotton Orochimaru had laid his sickly fingers on. He could actually feel the lumps on his back; the women had not tramped on it well.
His head was hanging off the bed, and he saw the whole room turned upside down. Grey curtains were clean and nice, and the window behind them was open; he could see a few clouds beyond the dry branches of trees. A cool breeze passed through them, but this time, he was not spending the night alone.
He felt a weight on his hips, but he did not need to strain himself to see who it was. The feisty red-head had finally done it! She had been rather persistent about the tea since morning. He should have known better. Orochimaru had gone out to tend to the messy businesses of burying more bodies in a ditch somewhere. Kabuto, his lackey, was always in his wake. The two made an eccentric couple. They really had left this wild girl to her own devices. She reminded him so of the pink-haired girl and her never-ending, desperate chase of him. How unfortunate for her that this one would get the fruits of her tricks and labours—tonight!
She was so chatty in the morning, talking of the effectiveness of the drugs she had concocted by burying her nose into one of the ghastly scientist's books. It was meant to make one weak and heighten the sexual pleasure. Why did his serpentine mentor even have such a thing on him? He had wondered, veering his mind away from the possibility of being a victim of her girlish tricks himself. Sometimes, his lack of awareness almost made him weep. Almost . . .
She did not weigh much, but she had always been rather thin and waif-like. Eager hands roamed his torso and that was when he noticed how sweaty he was. Her hand felt almost clammy and cold against the sensitive skin. Her fingers were like little pins that pushed excitement into his skin, and he felt it twitch uneasily; and despite himself, he let out a little gasp of surprise and protest. It felt so odd.
He had never invested much of his attention on sex. Orochimaru took excessive pleasure out of dragging him off to shady brothels from time to time, just to look at the embarrassed expressions he tried to guard so well. To him, this coldness was skin-deep, a vile companion he had learnt to love. He had allowed one to pleasure his cock with her rosy mouth and plump breasts by propping them on her arms. It was quite the show the way she had pushed them together and shoved them up nearly to her chin. He had erupted too eagerly upon her face and bosom. It looked messy, and despite the smile pasted on her painted face, he did not think she had enjoyed it.
That was almost a year ago. He thought that he had left such things behind to focus on his precarious future and the well-planned murder of his wicked brother; but Kami had different ideas to amuse themselves with. They were probably laughing how he was at the mercy of this wee girl's evil tricks and Orochimaru's terrible hobbies of keeping a bizarre collection of books. Sooner or later, this was bound to happen.
The minx had always been thoroughly infatuated with his outward semblance of beauty. She was bold enough to ask him to bed her quite a few times. He had, naturally, declined her generous offers. She was even happy enough to carry his child for nine months and birth it inside the confines of Kabuto's laboratory, in the hopes that it would be a compelling start of the revival of his long-dead clan. He had shuddered at the ways her odd mind worked.
But he had never imagined her to be so bold in subduing him to have her way. The girl was crazy! His gaze wandered to the cup and the last dreadful dregs of that awful tea, which had spilt over the red rug. He tried to turn on his Sharingan, but it was hopeless. It flickered a few times to focus on the cobwebs dangling from the old ceiling, but then it went quiet. The accursed thing had left him alone in this free theatrical show for the cruel Kami.
Her lips were soft as they descended on his throat. She suckled on the skin sweetly as though this was what she had desired all along. He heard sounds of rustling and the zipper moving, and then he saw her clothes fall down to the floor in a heap. She really intended to have sex with him tonight. This girl was hopeless.
Her hand went down, and she slipped it under his black trousers. He drew in a shaky breath, sweat pouring into his eyes from his strained brow as she freed him. Her breath fell upon the head, and it jumped in the excitement of a possibility that he would actually enjoy this. He shifted his back a little and strained his head up to look at her kneeling over him, thighs opening wide to take that twitching thing straight into her womb. It looked so vulgar, odd, new. There was a puff of soft red hair between her legs: they had yet to attain the coarseness of youth.
He stared at her and made a face of protest, but it was not as if she wanted to put an end to her girlish games. She slowly lowered herself on the head that was wet, needing in anticipation. Her face worked up into a knot of pain and fear, her legs trembling as she struggled to push down, to tear through Nature's cruel barrier. She took him in, little by little, wincing, till all of him was buried completely in her tight heat. And he saw drops of blood go down her damp thighs, marking her in ways she was too foolish to understand.
The room was spinning. The inside of her was torrid, tight and so, so wet and soft. He had never imagined himself to be that man who would want the flesh in such a way, but at this moment, he so desired to spill himself inside her after a reckless ritual of rutting. He wanted to move so badly, but the damn drug had left his legs almost paralyzed. She had played her tricks well—too well.
And then she bore down on him again and again, slowly and sweetly at first, squeezing him playfully as she lifted off him and rode him wildly. Her head tipped back, and a deep arch formed in her back as if she wanted him to see her child-like body. Her bosom was small like a little girl's, and so many teeth-marks adorned her skin like little stitches. Tiny red crests stood tight upon her small breasts. There was barely any fat there to give her the shape of a growing woman. The soft light from the moon did not let her hide the marks; and as sweat gathered generously into the dents in her skin, she began to look like a snake about to shed its old skin—little pushed-in places, another garb. Ghastly. So ghastly.
He grunted as she contracted her muscles again in pleasure. The room smelt strange, filled with the odour of their fluids and wet earth from outside the window. It had begun to drizzle. Light flickered in the sky and came into the room, making innumerable beads of sweat, which still stood all over her skin, shine as new scales beneath the flesh. She wanted to be liberated from her shell: a new snake in an old snake's body.
How long did it go on? He did not know. Outside, wind mellowed to a soft breeze and chilled the sweat dotting his skin; he was just so glad that thunder was there to hide his shame and the wanton noises that spilt from her lips. She thrust faster and faster, and he swallowed a wave of pleasure, feeling it tear at his composure and the thin fabric of that cold demeanour he always threw over himself to guard his thoughts. Her hips madly twitched, and she bent over him and dug her sharp fingertips into the trembling coils of excited muscles in his breast, as though she wanted something to hold on to. He grunted in reply, his legs convulsing from being unable to move, teeth clenching in protest.
And then she did a few frenzied thrusts and suddenly erupted in an arc that fell across his breast and the side of his face quite generously. Her long-winded moan seemed to stretch on forever, and her body vibrated with the pleasure of release. Her head tipped further back, and her thighs opened wide for him to see where they connected. The arc in her back deepened, drops of sweat sinking into that hollow, bouncing off his skin. A viscous mass of their arousal clung to the soft hair on their loins. It looked so . . . messy.
He turned his face away into the shadows to hide his blush in shame, feeling her contract so painfully around his shaft with yet another sudden jerky movement of her hips, pressing the semen out of his crown that he bit down on his lower lip—hard. Weak spasmatic twitches in his limbs betrayed his want to spill into her womb. At last, his face twisted in pleasure, and his lips pressed together as she bent down till her bosom was flush against his. A wave of emotions and pleasure tore from his loins and went through his heart, spasming throat, and into his eyes that they turned red; and as if feeling them to be that necessary trigger, he erupted in her—not caring how his fluids gushed and spluttered out of her trembling cunt.
At that moment, his head fell back with a loud shuddering breath and was hanging off the edge again. His eyes roved to the same cup and the same whitish liquid that had dried hours ago on the rug; and then he felt her move down over his hardening cock again. His eyes widened, and he barely managed to lift his head up to stare at her with a look that might have been something along the lines of disapproval. She still wanted to play? Damn this girl!
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The End
EN: Suigetsu teased Karin about a very interesting incident between her and Sasuke. Anyone over the age of fifteen would've pieced the clues together to reach an interesting conclusion.