Ratio 10 part A
The six men sat in the room, every eye between those four walls having been fixed on the seventh of their group for some time now. Their thoughts were almost tangible; such was the power behind each one. Some expressions were perfectly held, concentrated and carefully portrayed. But others were simply pictures of raw emotion barely controlled.
The clock on the wall ticked in the gloom, the sound of it almost being lost in the oppressive silence of this late hour. Or was it merely early? No one knew anymore, all that mattered was the darkness. It was dark and therefore there was time to ponder, and muse and grieve for at least a few more precious hours before the sun rose up and the world surfaced. Plus the darkness concealed the . . . gore . . . A corpse on the bed, blood on the sheets, the body slowly cooling and the skin slowly fading from pink to . . . white.
The sounds of people rustling and snoring in their sleep floated through the walls and up through the floors. Clattering and banging of cooks already preparing breakfast accompanied the few faint sounds of sleep, and yet none of this mundane noise managed to penetrate the sober atmosphere.
Around the room, their private thoughts marched on . . .
1 (Kakauzu)
He collapsed, sobbing. His tears fell moist onto the mattress, where minutes before his friend's living body had heaved its last breath. Through the shining curtain of grief he looked at Hidan again, so pale, so peaceful. He looked at harmony with the world, the whole world, not just the bits of it that concerned him and his habit. Kakuzu sighed, letting the trickle of air calm him and ease his aching throat. Shame suddenly crept up on him, shame for letting everyone see him break down. And ultimately, shame for not being there for Hidan from the start.
Oh he thought back, Kakauzu could remember the start . . .
It was early October, and a chill was just creeping into the air. It showed itself in the mist in the mornings, making its presence known by pressing itself up against the windows and swirling round them both on the way to college. Their breaths came out as little white puffs, adding to the shroud that already surrounded them. He remembered the walk, because every day it took longer, and every day it was harder. Kakuzu strolled effortlessly along, carrying Hidan's bag and his own as the younger man laboured by on crutches. Kakuzu's feet met the pavement with confident thuds, while Hidan's scraped along, tripping and often stumbling. He could see the pain and effort etched on the other man's face, but every morning and evening he would make the journey, just to prove he still could.
The college days were busy as ever. The never ending march of homework and vocabulary tests in German carried on regardless of the season. Paper flurried, printers beeped, pens scratched at books and life went on.
It was on one such day they were sitting hunched in the lovely plastic school chairs, on the second floor of the block, listening to the teacher drone on and on. Kakuzu's mind was full of worry; concern for assessments, and also a nagging doubt about Hidan. He hadn't been himself in the last few days, and a feeling in his gut told him he was to blame. He could have easily turned the blame over to Hidan's accident, which had happened around 4 months previously. But he knew the real cause of the other man's anxious eyes and fevered skin was because of the week before. Him and the fool Kisame had started trying drugs. It had been a laugh, they'd said, a little change of pace to shake him out of the depression that had settled like a blanket of dust.
Kakuzu glanced across at him, to find him distractedly fiddling with a well-chewed pen and staring out of the window. The sky was turning a beautiful pink outside the glass, pink to match his eyes, and in the city below lights were beginning to twinkle on.
He leaned closer, to get a better view of whatever it was that had captured Hidan's attention. And then heard him. Laboured breaths heaved in and out of his chest, sending alarm bursting through Kakuzu's own heart. Everything had been so calm before, so peaceful. What was wrong with him?
"Hidan are you alr-" he began, and when the pale man turned around he saw him blush deeply. The rush of blood to his cheeks was a complete contrast to the usual pale pink. He never said a word and his silence was shocking. The relaxed atmosphere was suddenly broken when he shot to his feet, pain briefly flaring across his face, pushed his chair back and hobbled towards the door.
"Where do you think you're going, young man!" The teacher burst out, but by then his hand was already on the door handle, the door was swinging open, and he was gone. Both crutches left leaning up against the desk. Kakuzu sat, stunned, wondering whether Hidan's sudden change in personality was down to him, and what he'd taken from his pencil case the second before he left.
Back outside, Hidan had nearly reached the bathroom. Clumsy footsteps and a herculean effort had got him halfway down the corridor. His hand slipped on the wall and he stumbled to his knees again, tearing the holes in his trousers even wider. A quiet cry of pain rushed past his lips, and his hands reached out in front, pulling and forcing himself along.
The door swung wide, into the dripping college bathroom. Slowly, he pushed himself up against a cubicle door, and slid inside, using the walls to clamber to his feet again. His legs shook and pain shot up and down them several times. With a deep breath, he contemplated what he was about to do, and what had lead him to this.
The highlighter pen felt light in his hands, the neon yellow colour almost stinging his aching eyes. If he undid the lid he imagined he'd smell that odd, chemical aroma, but there'd be no need for that. In fact he did the opposite and rammed the lid down hard, making sure it was staying on. Then he lowered it, slowly sucking in a deep breath to calm himself. The neon pen travelled past his t shirt, past his waistband, slowly trailing across his skin as he tensed and relaxed.
A feeling was creeping through him, warm and electric. He'd never felt this way before, not even at the prom when Konan accidently kissed him in year 11. But he didn't like it. It was too strong, it was sweeping him over, making him act strangely and sapping his energy.
"Ah!" he gasped. The cold tip of the highlighter pen had continued its journey and was now right there, right where he needed it. Poking and probing and stroking him gently. His eyes were shut tight for the simple reason he was too ashamed to look upon what he was doing to himself. One hand groped softly between his legs while the other slowly pushed the object further inside. It was a curious gesture, a first attempt at something more and faintly he felt an exited twinge like a light being turned on in a room for the first time. Beneath the unwanted throbbing, the false lust and panicked grunting, he was amazed at himself, amazed and disgusted.
Plastic screeched when his fist clenched tighter around the pen and he fell against the door. He wobbled, losing his balance on his weak legs and sank slowly back to his knees. A faint ache spread up though his thighs and the floor felt cold through his ripped jeans but he barely noticed. Pleasure was exploding inside him while the knowing hunger was gradually erased.
The room seemed to tip and spin and he never heard the door creak open, it was all lost to his grunts and quiet moans. Kakuzu stood, stunned by the sounds and the echoes of cries mixing with the steady drip . . . drip of bathroom taps. His friends' feet were visible under the door of the nearest cubicle and it chilled him to see they were shaking. The noise grew in volume and he turned his back, lest he see a reflection of Hidan in the puddles on the floor. Even cursed men deserved dignity.
2 (Konan)
It felt as if a great blade had been forced through my ribs. My friend lay dying in my arms yet his dried blood still coated my sleeves. A cold numbness began to worm its way up through my body, triggering tears as it reached my eyes. I looked down on Hidan's body as the warmth seemed to fade out of him, and the bile rose in my throat. This was all some sort of bad dream, in a minute I'd wake to find him curled in the next room, in his strange special bed. The electric humming would faintly reach my ears and we'd both drift in and out of sleep. It was the twilight hour just between waking and sleeping that I liked the best. The bit where you know morning is just around the corner, but there are still another few hours to savour. But it looked like the promise of another morning had finally been stolen from Hidan.
But while I swept my eyes once more over his small crippled body, a part of me was glad for him. I'd keep that thought secret for the rest of my life, but somewhere deep inside I was glad he'd finally escaped his pain.
I sat for a long moment, still as a statue and silent with the rest of them. I knew I should keep focussed and support my friends, but I found myself receding back into my own memory. I watched flashes of our past soar across my eyes, each as brilliant and terrible as the last. One in particular stuck in the forefront of my mind, one that I couldn't help but dwell on as one by one the others dragged themselves from the room. I guess they couldn't bear being in each other's presence any longer. I could understand. They needed time to grieve, and come to terms with what had happened here tonight.
But in all seriousness none of us had seen it coming. It seemed stupid now. Yet as the room emptied and the lights went out I sat alone, still keeping vigil beside the dead man's bed as I'd always done. I sat, silent, and remembered.
I remembered the decorations going up, the red and the gold fluttering in the streets. I recalled the sound our boots made as we crunched through the snow, and the sound Hidan made as he fell to his knees in it once more. It was early winter, the chill of autumn having turned into a stubborn freeze. College was on its last legs and everyone was winding down for Christmas even though the holidays were many weeks away. No one could be bothered any more. Least of all Hidan.
The gaps between the days he attended college grew longer and longer. I remember waiting for him every morning on the corner while the traffic roared past and sprayed me with sleet and dust. He hardly ever showed, and on the days he did, it was with great bags under his eyes and a heavy tiredness about him.
I blamed his illness the same as everyone else.
It was on one such bleak and grey morning, near on five months later, that I turned up once again outside his door. The house looked run-down and filthy compared to the one I shared with Kisame mere streets away. I hated the atmosphere in that part of town, hated the look of the buildings and the smell of the cheap takeaways. Odd that we should all, once again, wind up in that house again.
The exhaust from my car piled up in the air behind me as I sat behind the wheel and waited. The grey fumes trailed up into the grey sky and became invisible. I watched them climb higher, losing myself in another daydream. Anything was better than focusing on today - it was time for another hospital run.
We travelled the 60 miles every couple of months when Hidan had another check up at the hospital. I took the longer route along the motorways, because I knew the smoother roads would mean less pain for him. The car jolted and bumped badly on the country roads and every shock shuddered up through his legs and made him wince and moan. I was the only one with a car, so I drove, sometimes for hours, to get him down there where they'd go through the whole routine. The questions seemed endless and the clinical smell clung to my clothes hours after we'd returned home. The drive tired my eyes and burnt up all my wages in fuel. But despite his whining and crying, complaining and whimpering, I did it without a second thought.
I sat by his bed when they stuck drips in his arms, and filled his hands with pills. I'd come with him, every time he'd turned to me with fear in his eyes and asked not to be alone. I held his frail body to mine after the gruelling physio sessions that never seemed to help. The exercises he went through to make his legs work only seemed to put him in more pain than before. And as his independence fell away, so did his vitality and spark, until after every session we sat together, me silently letting his tears soak into my hair.
I remember turning up to the doctor's office as the months wore on and sitting in the squeaky fake leather chairs as he reeled off hours worth of jargon and rubbish. And I recall, as inevitably the nurses recommended him using a crutch. Slowly, month by wearisome month, one crutch turned into two, until eventually we arrived at this memory that I held so close to my heart.
****
My cheap trainers left marks on the polished floor as I moved them nervously, trying to block off more and more bad news. The drive to hospital had been made ironically jolly. Our sullen faces and sunken eyes were lit up from both sides by jovial decorations and mundane plastic lights as we'd driven down the little roads out of town. Hidan's heart had sunk further at the sight of other teenagers his age walking with their girlfriends in the snow. He and I both knew what the outcome of this visit would be. No longer would he leave laboured footprints behind him, or ever have to buy another pair of shoes. I stayed silent, letting him have his space to think. Anyway, I had no more words to say.
We pulled up at the hospital early. Both of us were too restless to wait any longer, and I'd gotten here much sooner than expected due to taking all the giant motorways which were easier on the suspension and Hidan's aching legs.
"We're here" I announced quietly, and almost jumped at the sound of my own voice, such was the oppressive silence in the car. I opened the door and shivered at the cold when it hit me like icicles; it was a complete contrast to the heat of the car, as I was constantly worried about keeping Hidan warm and comfortable.
The big grey car park outside matched the big grey building behind almost perfectly and only my bright car stood out against the monotony. I helped Hidan from the back seats where he was slumped with his legs propped up on the seats. He winced almost immediately upon moving them and I was once again glad we were finally here, to get the news we all knew was coming.
With one pale hand over my shoulder he stumbled along with me. He hung onto my coat for dear life and pulled it painfully around my neck but I didn't complain. His face was creased up with pain and effort and sweat was pouring off his brow, but I simply held him tighter as we struggled towards the lift. People stared at us as we passed, and I just glared right back into their faces, wanting only to spit into their eyes so they could stare at him no longer. We passed by, hearing the whispers erupt behind our retreating backs. I guided Hidan past the crowds to the bank of gleaming lifts along the wall. Stairs were out of the question, so as the lift doors closed with a hiss a laid him gently on the floor where he slouched with a groan.
The cold marble soothed his thighs and he rested his head on the wall behind. Less than a minute of walking had reduced him to this, and as our eyes met I did nothing to hide my sadness. His clothes hung limp with sweat when the doors opened again into a plush corridor. A doctor met us with a clipboard, a folder of records and a stern expression. I could barely contain my disdain – he knew everything about the illness that plagued my friend, yet nothing about living with it. The thought came like a wedge between us as he led us to a sumptuous wood panelled consultant's office with gleaming glass desks and post modern furniture. Sitting himself down self importantly, he began by shuffling some papers that I assumed were Hidan's medical records. Then, clearing his throat he started going over everything to date. The accident, the heart surgery, all the different drugs they'd put him on, and all the different ways they'd failed.
He stalled and pussyfooted around the subject for a good hour, waving his hands at the right moments and wasting time by taking Hidan's pulse and blood pressure. It wasn't until he'd introduced the new medicine in a way that would wow most advertising campaigns that the bad news finally came out.
"I am sorry" he began, "but you're going to have to consider using a wheelchair."
"Mmph" Hidan whimpered, nodding his head sadly and screwing his eyes shut against the tears. I reached over to comfort him, and as my hand touched his he trembled visibly. His skin felt hot to the touch, and I wondered briefly whether this was the strangeness Kisame had mentioned to me a few months earlier. He'd seemed pretty secretive then, and Hidan seemed pretty messed up now. The shock wasn't going down well with either of us, so when he turned to me and asked
"C- can I have a minute . . . alone" I let him.
He stumbled to get up, and grabbed the desk for support.
"Hidan," his consultant said softly, grabbing his attention then nodding to the left. We both followed his gaze and up against the wall stood a chair, the one he'd be using for the rest of his life.
A minute of silence followed. I half expected him to start shouting and throwing things, but instead he struggled over to it and slumped down with a heavy sigh. He looked so vulnerable and frail, like a porcelain doll. I watched him grab the wheels and steer himself out of the consulting room door with fevered energy, and suppressed a wave of worry over where he was going. I had to remember that he still needed his privacy, so with a gulp and a tissue to firmly wipe away my tears, I started the inevitable conversation with the doctor.
"The cost for the chair and the special bed . . . ?" I began, feeling mine and Kisame's wedding being pushed firmly to the bottom of the list.
3 (Zetsu)
Watching Hidan watching Deidara . . .
My expensive shoes clicked loudly on the shining white marble floor, turning silent as I stepped onto a sumptuous deep brown rug. I paced up and down the airport hotel's atrium, thinking and fussing, before striding purposefully out into the cold. I needed to clear my head, get out of that stuffy room full of the sound of tears and the smell of death. Cold wind whipped around me, and I realized my brand new Miu Miu jacket was still hung over the back of that cheap softwood chair.
I shuddered. And then stopped. Was I shivering at the cold? No. And it wasn't even the thought of my ravaged designer gear that was giving me goosebumps. A sudden realization had hit me like a punch in the stomach. Who or what had I turned myself into? There was no one around to pull me up on my pronunciation of French words, or introduce me to new gourmet restaurants. Yet I couldn't seem to drop the act. I almost smirked. I knew I liked it.
A beautifully decorated shop window caught my eye and pulled me from my silent contemplation. My footsteps slowed and my mind whirred. I peered through the glass at the sight before me; each different aspect of it relayed a story back to me. . . A stunning bride stole the show, her dress shone a cleaner white than the snow lying around the pavement and a lavish fur shrug lay across her shoulders. Next to her a tall man stood, dressed tastefully in a crisp black suit complete with waistcoat and cufflinks. His shiny black plastic hair hung in his face – a recreation of the latest style, while hers was pulled up into gravity-defying blonde curls. I stood and looked at them, stuck forever in their stiff poses, with the gleaming white gold ring always just inches from her finger. I bet they stood there, day after day and through the freezing nights, changing bridal outfits with each passing week. But that ring was never worn, they were stuck in time, perpetually getting married. Or 'tying the knot' as Hidan always put it. I hated the scummy slang my friends all used. But it made me slip back and remember.
"It's clearly part of the late modernist Bauhaus development" I chatted down the phone to Sasori who was on the other end. He was writing a brief essay before our courses started back up again in a few short weeks. Just for entertainment of course, the actual assignments were far more in depth, not to insinuate his private library was anything less than splendid.
"Oh but of course!" he exclaimed, and I noted how each of his words were clearly and properly pronounced. I'd have to watch myself around my old friends, my old lazy speech habits might return, and that would just be embarrassing.
"Cheerio then old chap" I laughed, hanging up and staring around the table for a clean spot to lay my iphone. I grimaced, not a single inch of the kitchen remained unpolluted. The place was a mess. No sunlight came through the window, because it looked out onto the side wall of the next terrace. The lack of light, however, only made the stacks of rubbish and dirty crockery look worse. The sink was full of week old frying pans caked with grease, and a single tap was dripping steadily onto the rusty mess, irritating me beyond measure.
A burnt out toaster stood nearby with more filthy plates cascading off the top of it, and dried food coating the kitchen drawers and the counter. To my left, the fridge hung open from where Deidara had just left it swinging. Inside gone off milk fought for position among cold pizza and microwave burgers. The smell was disgusting. Under my feet, mouldy bits of old kebab sat and rotted with no one to clean them up, and all manner of empty chocolate wrappers and rubbish spilled over from the bin. The small windowsill was crowded with beer and vodka bottles, almost if some mad kleptomaniac was collecting them up, and spare food and half empty jars were stacked precariously on top of each other. I preferred not to look around me or even think about how long half of the filth had been lying around for.
"What-cha lookin at?" came a voice from across the muck-strewn table. It was Deidara trying to speak with a face full of Chinese take-away. I'd been here when he'd ordered the damn family meal from the place down the road, I also saw myself losing a fiver in the bet he wouldn't eat it all. It was about 3 in the afternoon, one dreary September and the clouds were piling up outside. It was clear Deidara was simply bored.
"Want some prawn crackers?" he offered, while noodles slid over his chin.
"No thanks" I replied disdainfully and got up to leave. I slid gracefully off the chair and tiptoed around the worst of the mess towards the hall. But a sudden movement by the door caught my eye; someone was hiding behind the buckled wooden frame and peeking through the gap by the hinges. Slowly I sat back down, amused, and expecting a badly timed cry of 'SURPRISE' from a drunken Pein.
But it never came.
If I strained my ears all I could hear was a muffled breathing, which Deidara was oblivious to – all he could hear was his own slurping and chomping. Curious, I moved the cheap plastic chair around to the other side of the table and looked directly through the door.
A figure sat outside, staring intently into the dank interior of the kitchen. It was unmistakably Hidan. He was slumped in his wheelchair, both legs resting weakly in front of him. Both legs were spread. His eyes were screwed up like slits and he was trying to stay as quiet as possible, I could tell by the way he bit his bottom lip. Beside me, Deidara wolfed down another mammoth forkful of slippery noodles and plasticky meat, clumsily dropping some onto his already stretched t-shirt.
If I listened carefully, I could hear a muffled groan from outside.
How long had he been there?
I turned back around with my elbows on the table, and watched Deidara reach into the paper bag and pull out another polystyrene box. They were stacking up beside him at an alarming rate, piling higher on top of the mess and litter already surrounding us. He'd been eating out of the Chinese take away bag for nearly half an hour now. That thing was like a magic trick – it never seemed to run out! This box was filled to the brim with chicken balls, how the devils got chicken into a shape like that I didn't want to know.
"Sweet and sour" he scoffed through a mouthful of spring rolls, and managed to cram another handful of chicken inside his overstuffed mouth, nodding appreciatively. I grimaced and looked away as he swallowed; I couldn't help but think what all that rubbish was doing to his body. Although, I thought ironically, I could already see it with my own eyes. As I watched his hand dropped to his stomach and rested there for a long moment before he started massaging his aching belly, the rolls of fat and flab moved along with the motion,
"Mm . . ." I heard Hidan exhale heavily from outside the kitchen door.
I think I got the picture.
Part of me wanted to leave, and let this sick game play out on its own, but the other part, the mean domineering part wanted to put Hidan through a living hell now I'd discovered his dirty secret.
Getting up, I reached over to the cupboard.
"Cookie?" I asked, offering the box of giant chocolate chips I'd bought on a whim the other day. Deidara accepted, as I knew he would. He swallowed the mouthful of fried rice he was munching on and grabbed two cookies instead, as if he thought I'd eat them all if he didn't get them off me quick. Stuffing them into his mouth he nodded as crumbs tumbled over his belly, and gathered in pools on his chest.
I could almost hear Hidan's frustration, and it made me feel so good inside that I handed over the entire tray. I watched in morbid fascination as he devoured one after another, his hand moved constantly from the box to his mouth and back again, never tiring.
For Hidan, time seemed to slow down. The chocolate mixed with the grease on the blonde's lips sent his pulse and temperature soaring. Frustration and heat was building inside him, as insatiable as Deidara's appetite. Slowly he slipped a hand down inside his pants, tensing again when another few spoonfuls of fatty rice tumbled inside his friend's open mouth.
"Mmmph!" he bit down hard on his lip in a last ditch attempt to remain silent. He was too hot, what he was watching was wrong, what he was doing was wrong. But the fires couldn't be extinguished now; it was too late, far too late.
The empty cookie tray tumbled forgotten to the floor when Deidara's searching pudgy fingers found no more treats inside. And he once again tucked into the Chinese meal which was steadily growing colder and congealing inside the funny paper boxes. He found that often – that the bigger meals tended to go cold before you could finish that last quarter of a portion. It never made a difference though, he could put it through the filthy microwave, or –what he did most of the time – just gobble it up cold.
I watched while he shovelled more sticky sauce and meat onto his plate, and slopped a load of greasy noodles over the top. Impossibly, he reached for the mayonnaise, dolloping a huge glob on the side,
"Why . . ?" I murmured,
"I . . . I have to!" he hissed
"G – God" came the groan I'd been waiting for. Outside, it seemed Hidan could take it no longer. A low groan rumbled deep in his throat and hastily he began to satisfy himself, hoping nobody could hear.
"Dei – Dei –oh ... yeah" he moaned, hunching over and giving in to the urge. Even Deidara heard him this time.
"Job for you" I smirked as he wobbled to his feet and slowly peered around the door.
**
The curiosity on his face was quickly erased, and replaced by anger, then incomprehension.
"It's – it's not what it looks like!" Hidan panted, clutching his numb leg with one hand until his knuckles turned white, while the other hand pushed faster and faster over his fiery hot flesh. He desperately wished Deidara would have the decency to look away. But, he told himself, he'd just been caught in the act of spying on his friends own privacy. Wasn't he equally guilty of the same crime?
"It's not what?" Deidara hissed, taking a step nearer to the pathetic man before him. Anger and hurt were rushing through his veins and he could feel his heartbeat in his clenched fists. But as he stepped forwards into the cramped corridor, a corner of his thin, stained t-shirt caught on a nail on the doorframe. One step more and the small tear turned into a giant rip, giving a clear view of his ample body. Pale ripples of flesh pressed up against the remaining fabric, and spilled over the waistband of his jeans.
Hidan visibly tensed. Determined not to say anything more to insult his friend he clenched his teeth and stayed silent. His eyes – already barely slits- closed and squinted shut when he could no longer meet Deidara's gaze. He bit his lip so hard blood began to trickle down and over his chin, and the nails on his hand dug painfully into his thigh. Both hands clenched up, and he hunched over agonisingly slowly.
That's when the shakes started,
"Uh . . .ugh" he groaned as his legs twitched uncontrollably. The weak muscles jumped and spasmed, and when it got worse he placed two cold hands on them, trying to hold them still. Then his arms started going too, and his only remaining strength was spent.
"ahh . . .a . . .a" he whimpered as the violent shakes increased, and tears of frustration tumbled from his wretched eyes. Was no one going to help him?
Above him, Deidara simply watched as his best friends trembling deteriorated into a fit
"Deidara! Hell!" Kakuzu shouted in disbelief as he came around the corner to find Hidan convulsing in his chair, amid old Chinese strewn all over the hall. Completely alone.
"He needs help!" he sounded appalled, and made to step forwards into the gap between himself and Hidan. The shout seemed to wake Deidara from his reverie of spite and malice, and finally – almost too late- he went to his friends aid.
He grabbed Hidan's small convulsing body and helped him out of his chair and onto the floor,
"You shouldn't have watched me . . ." he growled, his voice deep and scolding. Hidan noticed his dark eyes, glowing with animosity the like of which he'd never seen there before. But the shakes were too strong, and the need was too raw for him to think coherently. Chills and flushes fought for position as he grappled with his belt, but his fingers were slipping and sliding with sweat. He flinched then and felt cold air rush up to meet him, looking down with relief he saw a gaping rip in the denim between his legs. Deidara slowly tore the rip wider, before forcing into him like a piston. The fresh red pain was all but obliterated by the heat and the fire and the hard hard man.
"AARRGH!!" Hidan screamed, and took fistfuls of Deidara's fat into his shaking hands. He couldn't focus, he couldn't see or hear. All he could manage was to feel. He felt the giant thickness pushing deeper into him, it felt like it was splitting him open and it was glorious, truly glorious. He felt Deidara's soft body heaving on top of him, taking over every one of his senses that was still working and filling them with bare red lust. He felt his back leave the floor as it arched in pleasure and need, and somewhere inside he felt the rumble of a deep and sensual groan. He felt his legs tingling and aching and with every thrust Deidara made, he felt them jerk and shoot beautiful sensations right to his core.
He felt the sweat trickling through his hair, and the cold floor thumping into his shoulders when Deidara slammed into him again and again. He imagined he could feel bruises erupting where chunky fingers clasped at his upper arms, causing agony where his veins had collapsed. He ran his hands up and down the body above him, feeling every curve and swell. His palms pushed flat against the excess flab, clutched and touched and explored. He couldn't get enough; his hands skated across every inch of Deidara he could reach, squeezing him obsessively. He wished with all his heart and mind that he could lift up those weak legs of his, and wrap them tightly around Deidara's belly, feel the rise and fall of Deidara's chest as he panted for breath.
The pressure inside him was beginning to build to breaking point, and his frenzied caress grew more desperate. He felt the tingling spread through him, a glowing burning feeling that he wished would never end.
"A-Arrgh . ...mmph" he groaned, moving a hand down from Deidara's soft shoulder to his groin. His legs felt hot, his crotch even hotter and he clutched himself with relief. Pumping harder and faster his breaths got shallower, and his moans grew louder. He heard his heartbeat in his ears, he felt Deidara's heaves grow harder, and slowly he felt the end approaching.
He felt . . . he felt the shakes subsiding . . . his breath returning. He felt his own hot seed splatter between his chest and Deidara's. A pause. Then again.
"uhh. . . ." he sighed, listening to the ebb and flow of his own breath, and simply luxuriating in the shear relief.
WATCH THIS SPACE . . .
TO BE CONTINUED . . . . .