title: Children of a Lesser God
author: myinukoi
warning(s): yaoi; lemon (my first)
pairing(s): nejigaa
disclaimer: i disclaim.
summary: That's how people like us get happiness. But you have to lie, cheat, and steal to get it; step on someone's feet to get it, and our toes have been swollen for so long, Neji...
//myinukoi;; My first lemon. Never done NejiGaa before, so I hope this is decent. Humor fanfictions like The Ukette don't allow me as much space for detail as angst. I wonder how much I've grown from my last angst fic (Love Me, I believe it was...). Let me know in a review.
For Oraday; my one hundredth user favoriter.
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His lithe form is upon mine and I'm fascinated by the contrast of his crimson hair on my pale chest. The extremes are beautiful. Our skins are still hot - scorching, even - blazed heatedly by infinite orgasms. I don't recall ever being with anyone - be it male or female - that climaxed so much, so hard. My tongue slides its way across my teeth and I allow the between-the-legs taste to fester oh-so deliciously inside my mouth. His scent of danger and sunshine thrives on my flesh. He stirs and my leg is sticky from where his tight ass rests on my leg. My seed is still spilling from him, adding to the wetness. I stroke his fair chest, pulling, absentmindedly, on his rosy nipples. He purrs.
It's so sexy.
His fingers grip my compliant member firmly, with a feel of possessiveness and longing as though wishing it was his to keep. Thankfully his fingernails are always bit to the skin, until their ragged and raw. A horrible habit, but it keeps any harm from coming to my flaccid penis.
My cell phone vibrates (like our favorite carnal toys) and we are both startled, dragged cruelly away from our two-person recluse. I reach for it, but I'm pulled down to the enticing comforts of our secrets and I allow myself to succumb to this mirage, this guise.
He wraps his arms around my neck and places small, precise kisses down my jaw line, my throat. He coaxes me away from reality and I allow him, wanting to be with him, if only for a few hours more, because I know that every second spent in this false peace will hurt me so much more when reality returns.
We remain silent. We wait for the buzzing and contradictive jolly tune of the sleek gadget to cease as we hold on to one another's guilt.
We kiss, touch, fondle a bit. I feel desperate and his kisses are so intense. It's going to hurt so bad, bad, bad when actuality returns. His kisses are getting hotter, so hot it's almost painful. It hurts so good.
I try to push the redhead away but his grip on me is unrivaled. "A little longer, please..."
"They'll look for us."
He sucks on my tongue (God, he knows that drives me crazy), and bites on it with unadulterated lust.
His eyes are on me, never straying as he makes his way down my chest and his mouth gives a quick lick to my member and then –
Oh, God. Oh, God. Oh, God. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
Those green, green eyes have disappeared and I grab his rose-colored head. My fingers stroke his hair; worshiping their softness as his mouth does the same to me. My digits in his hair follow his bobbing movement encouragingly. He brings his head up suddenly, as if emerging from a lake. He sends a coy, sexy smirk my way, and I think my cock is numb to the cold his mouth's absence has abandoned me with. He rubs me, so hard, so good, the friction - it's like he's trying to start a fire, and all of a sudden, I feel hot again. His face glows, as if with magic, magical healing abilities (my scars are disappearing, I swear) and those eyes disappear as he goes down again.
I moan, trapping his hair into fists and he moans around me, perhaps in discomfort, but that smooth pace never hesitates, fumbles, or ceases. Every nerve within me screams with passion as I come closer toward an undeserved heaven. I harden once more and I feel him smirk against my member. How can he do that? But I don't think I can ever doubt him of being able to do anything again... He's smirking triumphantly, proud of the power he has over me right now. He parts us once again and then he kisses me.
He rolls over to his side and opens his legs wide, pulling me to where he needs me. I climb on top of him, and his ass practically whispers my name. I'm allowed into him easily. We've done this so many times, and we bathe in our sin. He bucks underneath me and we fall into an impoverished rhythm, only the undercurrents.
His ankles go over my shoulders and I grip his pale ass and we're crashing together a thousand times. Through his heavy-eyelids, he looks down to witness our connection. My measured strokes lose all sense of rationality as I go deeper, harder, faster, and together we create madness.
His arms flail to his sides and he searches for a pillow, blindly, however, because nothing can break our eye contact. He pulls the pillow to his mouth to add softness to his wild sounds and I encase my teeth into his shoulder with a growl to do the same.
I grow upset without hearing his noises, seeing his face, so I yank the pillow away. His eyes are shut tight as his mouth reflects words of love and lust. His legs are spread like wings and under my every stroke and thrust he soars, flies, and cries like a phoenix.
I lift us up and slam our bodies against the bed's headboard, my knees sink into the bedding and he whimpers, surprised at the sudden change. But he's screaming again because I'm pounding again. Having him trapped between the wall and me, it leaves him helpless, ensnared, and purely submissive.
He can't move. He can only take what I give, and I'm giving him more than what he can handle. He's there. He's coming. Fast and hard.
Oh, how he trembles.
Oh, how he submits.
Oh, how his face morphs. Morphs with each demanding thrust into a beautiful ugliness.
I resist the urge to stop our movement simply to taste the mess he has caused between us.
The room sounds and trembles as though there is an exorcism in process.
In between my grunts, moans, kissing, and worshiping, I tell him how beautiful he is. I remove whatever filters and masks I have and I give it to him, all of it to him. And I said a lot of things. A whole lot of things, but I never claimed that I'm sorry. I can't be sorry. Not for something like...
Yet, even without an apology on my part, he tells me alone and simply:
"I forgive you."
Angry and relieved and sad (Kami, don't tell me I'm crying), I bring us both back down to the abysmal sheets, we are falling so deep, and I allow myself to rush back into him; I continue to take him. I want to rob him back of everything he took from me, but he holds it all, especially my heart, with an iron-grip.
Dammit!
I suck on his nipples, nothing more than defenseless pebbles under my tongue, teeth, and lips. He's thrusting towards me, engulfing me within him, and oh! Fuck no. We're lost. I freeze, not moving, trying not to come. Trying not to lose my mind, go insane, while inside him. We share breathless kisses and we devour each other, feasts on one another's flesh until we're both red and raw (our sensitive skins can't take it). We hold onto each other until we're somewhere else, someone else.
I thrust once more and then time stops.
All of me is focused on him. I lose control of it all. The epiphany, ironic let me tell you, strikes me during orgasm and I feel like...I don't know how I feel.
I suddenly realize that after this, nothing besides him will ever even attempt to come near the realm of important.
I feel fearless. Guiltless. Pure; as if deserving of the snowy skin I claim.
He loses his last and arches up to meet me in the middle of this, this. My name is sung (beautiful, beautiful) from beyond kiss-sore lips in two harmonious octaves.
"Neeee-jii!"
We come. We come. We come.
Then we rest. Our bodies gleam with perspiration and we rise and fall steadily and we rest. Minutes pass before we can collect our breaths.
He whispers and his voice comes off as slightly disturbed. "Gods, what have you done to me?"
His question goes unanswered, but I'm sure he knows that I could ask the same. But I don't, for I will go unanswered as well.
"I love you, Gaara." I whisper, breathily.
"I know," he replies.
He pushes me off of him roughly and then lays his smaller body on top of mine. The way he does it dares me to push him off. Of course, I don't. He strokes my chest, and he does it all as if he owns me. In his mind, I am his.
I reach down between us and nuture him. I do it all as if I own him. In my mind, he is mine. He jerks, jitters, trembles, and whimpers, but his limpness remains stubborn. This doesn't deter me in the least, doesn't at all sate my madness or need for him. I'm determined. Determined to raise the dead, determined for this not to end.
Please, gods, not yet.
My cellular vibrates again. I pull away from our play and stand up to answer it.
'Neji! Where are you–ttebayo! Everyone's waiting for you, man. Are you even dressed yet? This thing's about to start in, like, half an hour.'
"I'm coming."
'Shit, you better be. Sakura made me get a tux for this and everything! No one wants Hinata to get worried, so we haven't told her yet, but you better hurry, dude! Who leaves there own bride waiting, eh, baka?! Why I--'
"I'm coming." I repeat and then I hang up.
I look over to Gaara. He's on his back, looking up to the ceiling, nonchalant.
"I'm off, Gaara." I began to put on my clothes.
"..."
I give him a quick kiss after I pull my shirt over my head.
"It hurts me too, you know," I tell him. "I'm more than sure it hurts me more than it does you."
"I doubt that," he responds.
"You told me you forgave me, Gaara..." I remember our previous activities, confessions...
"I've changed my mind." His voice is abrupt, cold, and final.
"Gaara, don't be like that. You know I can't apologize. Not for this. It's to preserve the Hyuuga clan. Everything I grew up believing..."
"I'm leaving this motel, leaving Konoha, after your wedding. Don't expect us to meet again." His eyes still haven't met mine, still on the ceiling.
"We can still do this, Gaara. Less frequent, of course, but we can still do this...We can be happy, too..."
"Happiness? People like us don't get happiness."
"Of course we do."
"Of course we do? After a wedding, we'll come back to a motel and fuck behind the new wife's back. That's how people like us get happiness. But you have to lie, cheat, and steal to get it; step on someone's feet to get it, and our toes have been swollen for so long, Neji... Look at me," he sits up and spreads his milky arms wide open, accepting my saddened gaze heartily. That look, that hopeless, hopeless look is back in his eyes and I want to die.
I look at the clock. Eleven minutes left. Where did the other nineteen minutes disappear to?
"Look at me! Look at us! This, Neji, is our happiness!"
It hurts. The bad, bad, bad hurt that I knew would leave that biting after-sting. I knew this would happen. I knew it when I started.
"Fuck," I curse, remove my clothes, and lay down on the bed beside him. He climbs on top of me, does it all as if he owns me (he does, he does) and he plays with my left nipple.
The remaining time comes and passes, the cell phone (it rang forty-two times, I counted) is eventually thrown out the window.
I stay there with Gaara. I stay there with him throughout the night.
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