a/n: Because Uchihacest is AWESOMESAUCE. ;)
Disclaimer: IDNON, BIDHTOS! That is all.
Summary: He was always apologising… for all the wrong reasons.
ONE WORD PROMPT (THEME): "Taboo"
SONG PROMPT: Crying Rain—Girugämesh. One of the greatest Visual Kei bands, EVER.
DEDICATION: Bananafrappe, for all of her patience (and general amazing authoress skills) in my updating of something worthwhile (which is NIL, in my regard), and for updating 'Sasuke and Me', to which I shall review as soon as my internet decides to work again. Thank you so much for being such an awesome friend! :D
Categories—Angst\Hurt/Comfort\Vague hint at Romance (if you squint)
Rating—M (For taboo sexual situations, mild profanity)
Pairing—Uchiha Sasuke& Uchiha Itachi
Sasukeluva 4eva presents;
Forgive Me
Sasuke x Itachi Uchihacest Oneshot
"Sasuke… please… forgive me…" A tender kiss is placed upon my collarbone, drawing a resigned sigh from my lips; it seemed brother simply did not facilitate the understanding, had yet to comprehend, that he need not apologise so blatantly and with a frequency that would drive any man—homosexual, straight, bi or otherwise—mental after the first few utterings.
It had ultimately been my decision to allow Itachi to use me and my body to his contentment, and yet he still remained adamant in his condolences, much to my grief; I had allowed him such a 'privilege', the one that gave him liberty to take his pleasure in me as much and as often as he needed, simply because he was the big brother that I had adored since infancy; no, before even then.
He was the older extension of myself, so in a sense, our recent activities, taboo amongst the masses and an ideal held in contempt by those who did not already turn a blind eye to it, could be justified; I was simply giving back the part of Itachi that he so desperately wished to regain for himself.
There had been nothing more to it than that.
Or at least, that was what I had first presumed.
In the beginning, before this "messed up" cycle of pain and deliverance came into fruition, into being, I had utterly abhorred the notion of two men, much less two men who had relations to one another, being involved in any way that implied a more sexual connotation.
In no way am I homophobic (my best friend, the blonde sleaze of Konohagakure, is a right flaming git, flamboyantly fabulous in all of his gay wonder), but it is just the idea of two men, who were clearly designed to fuck females, were fucking each other up the asses instead.
Although, this opinion is clearly weighed down by my deepest prejudices, thanks to my "being hetero" rather than my being an "effeminate fudgepacker", as the resident homophobes so delicately put it.
But that was before I discovered my brother's deepest, darkest secret.
And it wasn't as if him being gay bothered me all that much; I had had an inkling of such an occurrence taking place in wake of the fact that Itachi had demonstrated little to no interest whatsoever in the fairer sex—fair enough. I don't like them much either anyway, annoying fucking bimbos…
No, Itachi being gay didn't bother or surprise me nearly as much as I had first assumed when I had pictured the scenario within the confines of my disturbed mind.
But what did surprise me was the fact that the only 'man' Itachi was gay for was me.
His little brother.
A youth who had only scraped seventeen three weeks beforehand; whom was barely legal yet for another year (hadn't stopped me from fuckingfuckingfucking my way through the previously mentioned bimbos anyway; hey, they might have been brainless idiots—especially the blonde, pink and redheaded stalkers from my fan-club, but fuck they were good lays—but they could do wonders for my ever-accumulating libido, seeing as there were so many of them willing to chance a one night stand with the infamous 'heartbreaker' of Konoha).
Who was blood-related to Itachi.
When this revelation hit home, it came with such profound clarity that at first it left me shell-shocked—his homosexuality had come in the form of my greatest fear. Again I feel the need to make it perfectly perfunctory that no, I am not afraid of queers, nor the choices that they invariably make (fucking other men up the asses, sucking each other off, kissing, touching, fucking, sucking—God I'm repeating myself; way to be completely contradictory Sasuke) in life; hell, that is their own decision, and I will reserve all judgements on my part because it isn't me in the relationship.
But that doesn't necessarily mean that I am—or was—entirely comfortable with the innuendo that is tied in a nice little ribbon around a fully loaded package such as tangible gayness.
No, I am not; does such a declaration, despite my adamant rebuttal that I am indeed not a homophobic prick, make me what others would label as such?
I surely do hope not—especially with the 'business' that I have inadvertently involved myself in over the past few months.
Itachi's being homosexual, at that point in time, amidst my first confirmed epitome, had left me shell-shocked and fearful to begin with, as I have already made vastly clear; shell-shocked because of the implications of his status as a gay man amongst the famed Uchiha Clan, renowned for being the straightest, most uptight stiffs the world over, and fearful because in all of the ways that I could have possibly loved my brother, that way was most certainly not one of them.
I did not get hard thinking of him—whether graced with his smouldering gaze or his sweet, reserved smiles.
I did not feel my temperature rise when he walked around the house half naked—no matter how beautiful a figure he may have possessed in the eyes of anyone who could actually see his beauty (inner and outer).
I did not get chills of pleasure whenever he pulled me into a tender (brotherly, in my eyes, but most probably something of more significance to him, now that I look back on those fleeting, but all too frequent occurrences) embrace, or when he ran his fingers through my hair when I was unwell, or even the way in which his arms provided me with a sense of security—I felt nothing remotely akin to the tickling gratification (carnality, the back of my mind supplied whimsically) that one would immediately associate with the caress of a lover.
And I most certainly did not get a rise out of seeing him unabashedly nude—whether dripping wet from a shared onsen bath, or when he was too lazy to dress on days when the two of us were left to our own devices (our parents having left for multiple international business trips); none of these instances had ever brought out the lascivious demon from within me.
Well at least, it didn't then.
But now… now, I wasn't so sure.
In the aftermath of my fear came acceptance; acceptance so natural that I myself felt discomfited, out of place—abnormal. It was unsettling that I could so easily adjust myself to Itachi's more than apparent want for me—which only intensified in intention with the less than conspicuous attempts to make physical contact with me, my flesh, bare or otherwise.
But I did, and almost welcomed, his attentions; I had always had a big brother complex, which had been made overtly clear by my mother and father on an infinite number of occasions (one of the few aspects that I myself was not afraid or ashamed to admit to or flaunt about in my day to day life as a child), but this seemed to have grown alongside his desire for my body—his hunger for my love.
Everything expanded and accumulated to the point where both Itachi and I were left high-strung; tension was a commonplace facet leading up until where we are now—where we have been for the past six months.
Another soft kiss soiled with tears; yet another sigh.
He had so much to learn, so much he had yet to accept; much like me, in that regard. I would avidly deny to anyone who asked if I were gay like Naruto that I was far from it, but I was no longer disparate in my sexual inclinations. If one were to observe my likeness from the past as opposed to the one presented to those of the now, one would note that I am far more open to homosexual couplings than I was six short months ago.
It was ironic really.
Six months was all it had taken for my past biases to be rubbed into the dirt, smeared into an indistinguishable smudge on the floor of an even more judgmental society, whereby their constant trampling only served as an unflinching reminder of the taboo nature of our trysts—six months was all it had taken for Itachi to have me in every way possible.
Physically, emotionally, mentally—he had slowly but surely seeped into my very system, like an aphrodisiac that was slow in acting until I reached that one pivotal moment in time when it could finally awaken within my bloodstream. Like a steadily humming pulse that could not be extinguished.
He had me in the very palm of his fine-fingered hand from that point onward.
From the first touch (so fleetingly hesitant that it was almost endearing), to the first kiss (so wholeheartedly tender that I was rendered mute with the shock of our lips making contact), to the first fuck (so fucking painful, yet the pleasure so bittersweet and blinding that I saw stars behind my lids for the first time in my life of philandering)—he had me hooked.
Yes, I still fuck women for the thrill of it; but I find that now it seems bland in comparison, less entertaining than a quick romp with my brother (because neither of us, the once virgin Itachi [I would always one up him in regards to sexual prowess] and the inexperienced-in-the-art-of-gay-sex heterosexual Sasuke, lasted long when so intensely joined at the apex of awkward ecstasy).
Does this make me a bad person?
I am dirty, tainted, yes—but this is nothing new to me.
I have always been dirty, tainted, from the moment I was conceived in the womb from an act so vile that my mother had never been able to fully forgive my father for his treason.
It was not an expression of love that bore me into the world; it was an expression of control, of power, the act of domineering a mere possession—nothing more, nothing less.
I was born into the world a constant, painful reminder of mother's grief, and for that, I think she hated me a little more than even she was aware; ironic that I thought the world of her, and she had but yet to cast a flicker, semblance, of a thought of me through her reticent mind.
Perhaps her lack of attention toward me (and father's utter distaste at all of my inadequacies) led to my need to act out in a form of rebellion so self-righteous and belittling to the Uchiha name that as a consequence, father had 'kicked me to the curb', so to speak; he expected nothing more of me as a 'son', just as I expected nothing more of him as a 'father'.
We were simply living amongst one another—there were no blood ties other than the ones that we wilfully established for ourselves.
Perhaps this is why I am able to let go of all of my inhibitions, and allow myself to succumb to my brother's ministrations—because it is the only sure, solid form of love that I have ever experienced in my seventeen years of living, breathing, existing.
It—this, no, his love—is tangible; he is tangible.
Itachi is there where my mother and father are and were not, and that is all I could have ever possibly asked for.
We are both so damaged—so fucked up from our upbringing that very little makes any true sense anymore. Morals, values, beliefs; even the line between platonic sibling feelings and real love have become distorted into one impossible maze of irrationality.
All of it was gone in moments like these, where Itachi's hands slowly peeled away my clothing, leaving me bare for all to see; all that needed to be removed were my denim jeans, and I would then be naked in all of my glory.
Sweat had at this point formed on my skin, further smeared across my pale flesh with the deft butterfly kisses that Itachi was placing all over my torso; it was as if he were paying homage to a God that he had been deprived of for far too long, and perhaps this was an accurate assumption. After all, Itachi wanted so very desperately to reclaim that which was rightfully his—that in which I had unintentionally stolen from him when I was brought into the world.
His lips were parted, tongue flicking over an erect nipple, swirling nimbly around the (dark) raised bud on an area so sensitive that my flesh flushed with colour, and the hairs raised into miniscule pinpricks across my exposed skin.
I was on fire.
Temperature heated; blood on the verge of boiling over and cooking me from the inside out; blatant tent in my now straining pants; an insane, inane urge to kiss him senseless plaguing my every movement.
I was burning up. I had to have him.
Kisses were peppered across my jowls, my chin, cheeks, eyelids, nose, forehead—a beeline made for my collarbone rather than my lips. Itachi would rather suck on my neck than my lips; or better yet, he would rather suck on my neck than my cock, which was at this point already busting my expensive brand jeans' fly, no doubt.
A feral scowl settled on my lips at the thought of having to buy another pair for the same reason as the last time it had happened (people were sure to be suspicious of a youth that rarely went shopping unless it was absolutely necessary to do so coming in for the second time that week for yet another pair of pants—if that doesn't support the claim that I am a 'fudgepacker', then I don't know what does); that pretty mouth of his could be doing wonders for my libido right about now, but instead he had decided to neglect my base needs in favour of the painful process of foreplay.
Sometimes I really wished that he would just get on with it—the sex might have been in need of preparation, but foreplay involving teasing kisses on every inch of my already overheated skin was not helping in my plight for release.
But I knew that Itachi was a man of patience, if not consistency; he would make sure that both parties were equally attended to, and liked to take things slowly in order to give me a chance to back out if I felt that need overcome my senses—if that were to have happened on the night I gave my ass its worst abuse ever, then we would not have progressed this far into whatever 'this' was.
And maybe that would have been for the best; after all, that way, we would not be stuck in the predicament of deciphering what 'we' had become—were we brothers, friends with blood relations with benefits? Lovers? I honestly cannot say anymore.
Again, everything pertaining to 'us', to our 'relationship', has become distorted in our taboos; in all of the guilty pleasures that we in turn indulge in from one another.
Whatever 'this' was, whatever it was destined to become in the future, one thing was for sure; it would not end quickly. Knowing Itachi and his tendency to cling to his wants and beliefs, his possessions and his love interests (namely yours truly), he would have a hard time letting go of me when the time came for me to do so. Because we could not pursue this once I was an adult. I intend to study abroad, away from the restrictive grasp of my parents, away from the troubles I had created here in Konohagakure—away from him.
Don't get me wrong, I love my brother dearly; that is why I must leave his presence. The line, the line between us being brothers and lovers, the line that distinguishes our platonic feelings for those of a more romantic nature, has been blurred—I can no longer define what is 'right' and what is 'wrong'.
I no longer know if I have the capacity to love my brother in that way. Perhaps even at all. Yes, it is true. That I may hate my brother, for all of the shit he's inadvertently (no, I mustn't defend his actions—for all of the shit that he has forced upon me, in his mild mannered way) dragged me into.
For all of the shit that I've taken being the 'second child', born out of hatred and not love.
For all of the shit that he has made me think about, and made me feel over these last six months.
Yes, I do hate my brother, it seems.
But I love him just as much, which makes what we have been doing, what we are instigating as of this moment, harder to accept; going into sexual scenarios with mixed feelings never panned out.
I would know this all too well, the experience having come from Naruto's widowed mother, of whom indulged in my body to forget her grief of losing her late husband; Minato was so good to her, so open and accepting of Naruto's homosexuality, so wonderfully beautiful that when he died, even I was brought to tears—he was the father, no, the dad, that I had never experienced, never had, and losing him hurt just about as much as it did for the two who were actually tied to him.
And due to this shared heartache, we came together in the only way I knew how (to comfort another); with our naked limbs twisted around one another and joined, her moans and cries and tears, of sorrow and ecstasy intertwined, drowning out the numbness that had I had succumbed to from within.
We each took each other's pain away, up until the point in which I could no longer call her 'mother'; because sons' did not do this to—with—their mothers', never ever.
And she could no longer think of me as her second son, because she had soiled and tainted my innocence, had been the one to take away that innocence (not sexually, of course, but in the sense that she had removed any childlike glimmer I had held of her as a mother figure and transformed it into that of an experienced older lover).
It was so wrong, but soso right all at once.
We haven't seen each other in almost a year now; she moved away to be with her older brother Nagato, who was to be her support from that day onwards, leaving Naruto to stay not too far from me (because he had insisted on being with his best friend, for forever and beyond, no matter how much I thought of him as annoying—I just think he would be a lonely faggot without me, the knuckleheaded dobe; all said affectionately, of course).
No longer would she have to use my body to gain comfort, solace.
And no longer would I have to deliberate over what to call her—my mother or my lover.
Thus why now I had to get away from Itachi, as soon as humanly possible.
Because I could not bear the thought of losing him too.
Yes, I hate him.
But I love just as much, and I will keep telling myself that whenever he comes to me late at night, like this, like now; even as he slowly peels my tight pants down my otherwise bare legs, I must remind myself of this—of how much I hate you, and of how much I adore you too.
And I think Itachi knew this as well as I did; that I loathed him; that I loved him; that I had to escape from his smothering presence—he smothered me with his emotional baggage, his tears and his love, and enough was enough.
I had to leave, and so did he.
Itachi knew this better than anyone else.
But that did not deter him from paying me nightly visits, more frequent now that our parents were no longer around to distract him from his desire for sex; his desire for me.
Tonight was of no difference.
He was like a man starved, who was presented with a buffet that he could indulge in for as long as he wanted, and could take just as much to fully appease his growing appetite; only in this instance, he was not seeking food or beverage.
But rather, my body, now glistening with sweat under the pale silver moonlight filtering in through the window, naked for all the Gods and Goddesses, if there were such corporeal presences in existence, to behold.
My hair was damp with moisture, as was my flushed flesh, the tip of my hardened length glistening with semi-translucent fluid; he had me worked up, without a doubt, my heart thrumming hectically behind the skin pulled taught over my ribs, the only shield that I had from Itachi's perusal, of his seeing my reaction to his ministrations.
Of him seeing how flustered I was becoming with each passing second that his hands trailed over my figure; with each passing second that his lips fluttered over my flesh, bypassing my lips, my rigid cock, with the intention of teasing me to orgasm; with every second that passed where he loved me, showed me love—more than I had ever known before.
Women loved me for my 'fame', looks, status and money—Itachi loved me for me.
It was as simple as that.
Perhaps, in my own twisted way, this was—had always been—inevitable, this 'sex with no meaning'. No strings attached for fear of reprisal; for fear of being caught. Itachi loved me; that much was obvious. But then, that would be contradictory, for his loving of me, unconditionally as he does, rips apart all rational thought and leaves it bare for unwanted exploration (but what of my situation could ever be deemed rational anyhow?).
No longer was this sex carrying 'no meaning'. In fact, it meant more to both of us than anything else—Itachi because he had desired me for so long, for what he was missing within himself that he could only find in me, and me because I had yearned to be loved so wholly and without fail for so long.
I wanted to love, and also be loved in return.
One of these has already been fulfilled, whereas for the other… it is questionable, to say the least.
Soft, long locks trailed loosely over my skin, the pale flesh prickling with the mind-numbing pleasure that it brought with its' contact; it stuck to some areas, where the sweat was most prominent, soaking through the silky strands to meld with his own in turn.
An inquisitive tongue traced the contours of my muscles, dipping into the crevices displayed; into my eardrum, my mouth (where he paused for a heated lip-lock, one that I myself did not wish to deny), my navel. Once again bypassing my turgid shaft now nestled in the crook of his neck, hot and heavy against his broad shoulder.
A coquettish smirk played upon his lips as his slender fingers ghosted over my body, starting with a sift through my hair, before then brushing over my forehead, heavily drooping eyelids, aristocratic nose, unblemished cheek, plush mouth and smooth chin, trailing idly over the defined plane of my chest; Itachi made a brief stop at my nipples, pert and sore from lack of attention, before a wolfish smile split his lips, his fingernails grazing over the small buds before he tugged on them none too gently, a feral growl ripping from the centre of my chest.
I never did like to be tormented, especially not in exploits of a sexual nature.
Slapping his hands away, I shifted my stance, to push myself into a sitting position, when he shoved me back down into place just as quickly, a fleeting feeling of surprise registering from within me before my expression darkened, eyes holding an impatience that would drive any man to their imminent demises had they not had the unshakeable control of an Uchiha purebred. I was not in the mood for foreplay right now; having gone without sex for a week (due to a painful incident involving our last romp, wherein my back shall never be the same again), I was entitled to skip the mediocrities and jump straight into the main course of the evening.
Unfortunately, my brother has always been one for formalities; one must not extend favours until the initial bureaucracies have been paid in full, and our intercourse was of no exception to his twisted rituals of self-preservation.
Smiling in a promising manner, Itachi brought his hand down to my pelvic bone, wherein my breath hitched ever so slightly; holding its place within my throat as he gently twined his fingers in the course dark hairs surrounding my pubis, the pliant, soft flesh melting further under his caresses. My erect cock twitched at the contact.
Smile softening with the choked groan I had inadvertently emitted, Itachi slowly teased his fingertips up the length of my shaft from the very base, a slight tugging on my pubic hair causing a muscle in my left thigh to spasm in shock.
From my position at the top of the bed, cushions supporting my neck, Itachi looked devious, sinfully wicked in all of his glory, my phallus barely inches from his left cheek; his dark eyes glistened in the faint moonlight, full of more life than I had ever seen before within their stony depths. It was a sign of his happiness; a sign of his contentedness.
Our eyes locked as his hand made its way to the head of my penis, thumb brushing over the molten slit (which was leaking pre-cum until it was dripping down the heated surface, doing nothing to cool my raging hard on down) and around the tip, spreading the liquid until it was glistening in the afterglow of the moon's transience.
The twitching worsened until I was practically throbbing in the palm of his hand.
His grip, varying from loose to taught, only caused it to occur on a heightened level, the pumping motion beginning out slow, before his pace gradually picked up, the applied pressure continually shifting when I began to feel close to climax. The sound of wet slapping became apparent, his dampened hand smacking into my scrotum, which in turn slapped against my ass cheeks; I was too far gone to notice.
A quick squeeze and tug, and Itachi removed himself from me, my closed eyes snapping open in extreme displeasure (I cannot recall when they even fell shut) to settle a frosty glare in his direction for not allowing me to cum; a smile was all I was graced with, Itachi's soft cheek running up alongside my turgid member, mischievous tongue darting out to run up the full-length of the silky texture, my whole body rigid with anticipation.
I was rewarded in full for my suffering when his mouth settled around my shaft, throating me quickly and deeply with no hesitance in his movement whatsoever, both of us groaning in complete, unadulterated bliss at the sudden change in dynamic; the consequent vibrations his keening produced causing my back to rise ever so slightly off of the soft mattress beneath me.
Admittedly, Itachi—my own blood brother, whom had, up until only six months ago, had no prior experience in the art of sex of any kind, male or female alike—had given me the best blowjobs in my entire stint as a Lothario, and this had to be the best so far.
Although I was never the one to give, I knew what I liked; how simple it had been to direct him in the appropriate way of entrapping my engorged phallus between his lips, how far he had to swallow me before the ultimate pleasure was attained, what pressure he applied to his mouth in order to make me squirm for more—of course, being the proud Uchiha genius of our Clan, he was able to go above and beyond these expectations, furthering them with little twists of his own.
Sucking on my cock's head when he had to come up for a mouthful (that was not tangible) of air, a soft slurping and a 'pop!' sounding when he parted for that one precious moment, wherein the cold breeze would hit the wet flesh, resulting in my beseeching for more; humming whilst throating me, at random intervals; running his tongue over my balls, sometimes sucking on them; fondling with the loose sack of skin whilst in the midst of tedious cock-bobbing.
He was all too willing to discover something new to bring me to new heights of ecstasy, and this time was of no concession; with one hand fondling my scrotum, and the other pinching at the closest nipple, it was only a matter of time, coupled alongside the rapid dipping of his lips over my engorged shaft, that I would climax, his mouth sealing firmly over my penis when the hot spurts of semen shot from the slit, Itachi greedily gulping the thick jets of cum down and into his system.
One of the plus sides was that Itachi always swallowed everything; not a drop was wasted.
My body shook from the residual aftershock, breathing laboured and heavy as I tried to regain my composure; Itachi peeled his lips away, tongue tracing my head's opening in case of any remnant ejaculation, before licking his lips clean, eyes hooded and clouded with lust.
Not long; it did not take me long to recover, and at that point, Itachi had already crawled over me, hovering ever so slightly above my face. My eyes opened, and we locked gazes once more. His lips pulled into a small smile, contrasting to the sudden smirk that tugged at mine; winding my right hand into his sweaty hair, I tugged him down, turning the tables on him and throwing our game up several notches as I thrust my tongue into his parted orifice, his surprised whimper cut off by an eager, submissive moan.
My once flaccid member stood once again at complete erectness.
His hands were all over me; stroking my sides, the planes of my toned stomach and chest, my face. It was about time I tortured him in return.
With a force that startled both of us, I flipped our positions, so that Itachi was now lying placidly beneath me, a heated look of desperation plastered across his face as I continued our impassioned lip-lock, hands groping none too gently at the flesh of his muscular build. His hips gyrated against mine, our naked cocks rubbing intimately against one another until our semen was mixed together, dripping down our stomachs until we were almost glued at the hip.
Feeling empowered by Itachi's passivity, I did the unthinkable; I grasped his length within an iron grip, something that shocked the both of us. I never touched him in such a familiar manner, whether it be with my hands, or my lips. Kissing [his mouth, face or body all above the lower section] was the only exception to this pre-established rule.
Breaking our kiss, I stared back into equally flabbergasted eyes of liquid onyx, a string of saliva connecting our mouths; tongues still touching at the very tips.
"S-Sas…uke…?" He sounded so confused, not sure what to make of this sudden development. It would have been endearing, had I not been as befuddled by my impulsive action as he was.
Our lips, now parted from one another, were parted slightly, as if we wanted to say more, but there were simply no words that could be said; only actions could speak louder than words in our current 'situation', and I supposed that it would be best to show him rather than tell him.
A rough squeeze, and he was putty in my hands; a loud moan tore from his lips, his pelvis naturally tilting up to meet my palm, his eyes closed, sweat slipping down his skin and causing what friction had been there to amplify in ample. From what experience I had from my own masturbation endeavours, it was simple; base, squeeze, tip, squeeze to base and back again. Perhaps a quick fondling of the ball sack with the remaining hand not invested in bringing oneself to orgasm.
Which is exactly what I did; pre-cum was smeared all over my hand (I hadn't realised just how hard him giving me pleasure had gotten him), his course pubic hair tangling in the mess of heated touches against hot, throbbing velvet, his legs twitching whenever I tugged a little too hard for his comfort—it did not deter him from holding my bicep in a vicelike grip as I rapidly brought him to the edge of bliss.
Too bad I wasn't in the mood for being generous with him; after all, I was still sore about his earlier neglect.
Removing my hand from his hard staff with one final, painful grasp, I brought the aforementioned appendage to my lips, nose getting the better of me as I inhaled deeply—a husky, distinctly masculine aroma was given off. Not entirely pleasant, but not repugnant either; it was simply what any thoroughbred male would smell like.
Shirking off my inhibitions, I cautiously brought the hand, covered completely with secreted semen, to my mouth, tongue tracing the sticky substance languidly, a bitter tang left on the surface of my tastebuds. Not entirely pleasant, but not repugnant either.
I froze in my movements when I noticed Itachi's intent gaze burning into my skull; I smirked. A light flush had settled over his cheeks, dusting the rest of his body a faint hue of plush pink; he was turned on by my display. Making sure to drag out my movements, I dragged my tongue across the surface of my palm, leaving the juices to coat my fingers; his eyes followed the entire display of erotica, his erection digging into my stomach almost painfully.
The wolfish expression on my face only grew as a thought occurred to me; tilting my head back on a slight angle, I inserted two of the fingers into my mouth, swirling my tongue loosely around the appendages, his breath hitching in response. Taking them from my own mouth, I trailed the tips of all of the wet fingers over his sweat-slickened chest, tracing them around his nipples, up his neck, and to the corner of his parted lips.
Nudging at his mouth, I opened mine to speak, my voice monotonous and sardonic in all of its deep, luxurious glory.
"Suck them."
And he did, without question or fail, tongue engulfing all four digits with brisk, hasty licks, sucking on my index and middle fingers like he had my cock not long ago.
Releasing them with a 'pop!', Itachi melted back into the cushions, groaning in desperation as he ground against me, eyes closed once more as he tugged on my raven locks, bringing me down to kiss him; placing my lips, instead of on his mouth, on his cheek, the frustrated cry Itachi emitting only increasing my growing mirth.
Pressing a solid kiss to his cheek atop the one I had already placed there, I moved down to his chest, lapping up the trail of bitter semen I had left prior to his sucking on my digits, my mouth closing over the his right nipple as I toyed with the left; my other hand tracking down to where his rectum lay, anxious and trembling, before I probed at it, Itachi stiffening at the contact.
I smirked, reaching up once more to squeeze his turgid cock, producing a natural lubricant that I could use to soften the walls for penetration, and minimalise the pain of the unnatural intrusion; forcing him to orgasm was child's play. A tug and squeeze at irregular intervals, and he fell over the edge, semen spurting over his stomach and my thighs; gathering the accumulated mess across my fingers, I probed once more at the opening of his ass, amused when Itachi was racked with spasms, his enthusiasm besotting.
Without much else warning, I jammed a digit in the tight orifice, his pained yelp going unnoticed as I worked my way into the deep canal, a second finger quickly joining in order to stretch the walls apart in a limited scissoring motion; the moisture began to collect, as did Itachi's quiet mewls of bliss.
It was time.
Confiscating my appendages from his rectum, I pushed his legs apart, my body settling naturally between his, our erections meeting halfway and pressing against one another, my figure shadowing his from the light filtering in from the outside until only my naked backside could be seen; hitching his legs up onto my hips, I aligned my penis's head at his entrance, slickening his entry with the cum oozing from the slit, before forcing my way in, not pausing at his sound of protest until I had sunken in to the very hilt.
His arms wound around my neck for comforts sake, his face buried in my neck and lips pressed against the salty flesh as I pulled out, only to push back in a moment later, the grip his ass's walls had on my cock absolutely delicious; he held me close as I picked up momentum, the awkwardness of our position increasing the friction tenfold.
Wet and warm; tears.
He was crying again.
Amidst his keening moans, he wept, mouth attached to my neck as the sprites of water mixed with the sweat that slipped over my flesh so very naturally, like a second skin; he never learned, even after that brief interlude of foreplay. He needn't cry; and yet he did, with that same irritating persistence.
"Stop it."
A gruff demand, leaving my lips with a virulent promise of pain if he didn't cease; he did not, and for that alone, I thrust a little too brutally—he was sure to bleed from the sheer vigour poured into that particular plunge.
A whimper, but the tears still fell. Dammit, I don't know how to deal with emotional displays such as this!
Grunting, I ignored his weeping, in favour of bringing us both pleasure; my right hand slipped between our bodies, the left remaining on his right thigh as I grasped his cock—static, irregular pumps to match our staccato pace.
His hands clawed at my back, welts and half crescents blooming upon the tender surface, rupturing until blood was drawn, unceremoniously dripping down my back; it was easily ignored.
We didn't last long; three powerful thrusts, and we climaxed simultaneously, him onto both of our chests and into my hand, me into his packed asshole, my cock blocking (literally) of his rectum causing a build-up of ejaculated semen to form there.
Itachi juddered at the too-full sensation.
I removed my now flaccid cock, the juices seeping out of the unpacked orifice at a rapid rate, staining the sheets as a means of marking our forbidden 'relationship' permanently; suddenly fatigued in the aftermath of our tryst, I collapsed alongside Itachi, his arms loosening to allow me leverage to get comfortable.
We lay in silence; both of us on our backs, sweaty, exhausted, lost for breath—our arms barely touching as we gazed up at the darkened ceiling.
Breath caught, I rolled onto my side—or at least attempted to, until Itachi rolled me back into his arms, his head resting against my chest.
I did not protest.
A soft kiss against my breastbone; more tears.
Once more, he apologises.
Once more, I sigh softly.
He just never learns.
"I am so sorry… Sasuke…"
~Owarimashita
a/n: Finally finished! :D
*Is deliriously happy*
I hope that this was okay, being my first official attempt at a 'yaoi' genre (although for me, Uchihacest is WAY different to the standard definition of yaoi) oneshot. -_-
So hard to get it… semi-accurate. :/
Was random, probably makes no sense. But meh. *Is over it*
Please leave a review! I would love it more than anything else right now!
And do check out the NEW poll that I have up and running on my profile; it is for a new story idea, and I wanted to run it by my readers, both old and new.
Let me know what you think, alright?
Well, I've kept you here long enough I suppose…
Until the next time I update/post anything on FF!
~Rin