AN: Hi there, guys! So, this is my very first Naruto fanfic to be published on any website, how exciting!
Don't be too harsh on me for any grammar mistakes or misuse of vocab - English is not my first language, so please please please be patient with me!
I encourage you to leave some reviews in the comment section - constructive criticism is always welcome here. Let me know about anything I might improve or what you liked/disliked!
Shikamaru is 17 years old here.
Warning: Contains incest! (fatherxson) If you don't like it, don't read it, if only for your mental comfort :)
Hope you'll enjoy it!
Shikamaru was bored. So damn bored. Upon coming home from his last mission two days ago, he couldn't find himself a place in the empty Nara compound. With his mother gone to live with her sister for a while and his father on another mission, the house was annoyingly quiet.
He collapsed on the old but comfortable couch, stretching his legs in front of him, ankles crossed, and reached for the control remote that lay under one of the pillows to his right. He spent the next fifteen minutes changing channels lazily, until he stopped on one. He didn't really intend to, it just sort of happened, his finger freezing, refusing to push down and press the small, grey button that would bring him yet to another channel. There was just something in the way the people on the screen moved, two bodies against each other, skin on skin, slick and firm. And the sounds. Kami, the sounds. The quickened breaths, harsh intakes and heavy sighs, the gasps and the groans, sounding almost in tandem.
Shikamaru felt himself hardening, his pants becoming uncomfortably tight around him.
Troublesome.
He contemplated for a moment before shrugging to himself.
"Ah, what the hell," he muttered, before setting the remote back on the couch.
He pushed himself up a bit from the almost-horizontal position he'd taken and adjusted against the back of the sofa, unfolding his legs. He bent them in knees and set his feet on the cool panels of the floor.
Eyes following the rhythmic movements on the screen, Shikamaru reached a hand between his legs and palmed his erection through the fabric of his black cargo pants. A soft groan escaped his mouth at the touch; the relief was instant, yet not enough. He reached higher, tugged at the waistband of the slacks he wore and pulled them down, just enough to free his aching member.
He hissed when the heated skin met the cool air of the living room, before wrapping his long fingers around the hard flesh. A gasp filled the room, followed quickly by another low groan when his thumb swiped across the sensitive slit, gathering the pre-ejaculate that had seeped from it. Having spread the liquid over his palm, he slid his hand down the length, then back up to the head and down again, the transparent pre-fluid easing his movements.
He watched the pair on the screen moving slowly and matched the pace of his stroking with their tempo, his obsidian eyes sliding over screwed-in-pleasure faces, flawless skin, hard muscles, a tanned, nicely toned abdomen, to finally focus on the point where the hard length disappeared between paler, firm buttocks of the other man.
"Damn…" Shikamaru hissed, more pre-come oozing from his pink-flushed tip.
He continued to stroke himself lazily, taking as much pleasure out if it as he could, appreciating the visual display in front of him. He wondered how it would feel to be the one to receive, to take rather than to give. Not that he was experienced in either – at least not in the gay department. He knew how the things were supposed to work though, but didn't really bother to analyze his lately-discovered fascination with sex between two men. Since the first time he'd stumbled upon homosexual porn, he'd always assumed he would end up being the one on the top; if nothing else, simply because he could imagine how it would feel – couldn't be that much different from pushing himself through the tight ring of his own fist. But being a bottom? He just couldn't imagine, had no data to compare to. In theory it seemed rather deprecating, but if the look on the face of the man from the record Shikamaru was currently watching and the sounds he was making were of any clue, then it couldn't, just couldn't be bad. On the contrary, Shikamaru deduced it had to be really, incredibly good, judging by the way the bottom's cock twitched and seeped with pre-come all the time.
Yeah, must feel good.
Another swipe of his thumb across the tip and he went back to stroking his length in slow pulls.
And then, he almost jumped out of his skin when a hand closed around his shoulder.
Shikamaru's eyes widened and his heart stopped in his chest, the hand on his member freezing immediately, just like the rest of his body.
In the black frame of the TV he could see the reflection of Nara Shikaku, his tall figure standing right behind the couch, his Jounin vest opened and hanging loosely.
Shikamaru didn't dare to turn around. Hell, he didn't even dare to blink his eyes. He sat in complete silence and immobility for what to him seemed like a whole eternity but just as well might have been a couple of seconds, waiting for any reaction from his father.
And a reaction he received.
Shikaku's hand squeezed his shoulder gently.
"Go on."
Shikamaru though he'd heard wrong. Then again, it was a miracle he heard anything at all through the loud pulsing of blood in his ears.
But the large palm on his shoulder was reassuring, not condemning.
He swallowed hard, and then finally moved his own hand. One slide down, then up, all mechanic and controlled, tense under the careful gaze of his father.
"Eyes on the screen, Shikamaru," came the quiet but firm voice from behind him. Shikamaru's hand faltered instantly at the command, but he complied nevertheless, lifting his gaze back to the display of two bodies grinding together, glistening with sweat and emanating pure passion with every movement of hips, hands and mouths.
Gods, so hot.
Shikamaru bit down on his tongue to stop any sounds from coming out of his mouth, his nostrils flaring on every single breathe-out, the urge to part his lips and let out a pant, a gasp, a groan, getting too powerful, too overwhelming to fight.
And then, the sound came out, a long, deep moan. Although it didn't come out of Shikamaru's throat, but from the man on the screen. The bottom. It carried all the desperation and need that run in Shikamaru's veins at the moment. Might have just as well come out of his own mouth.
His eyes were glued to the expression on the bottom's face, screwed up in so much pleasure that Shikamaru could hardly believe it was possible.
"That's enough," Shikaku murmured quietly behind him, his thumb drawing a small circle on Shikamaru's shoulder blade before retreating his hand altogether.
Shikamaru froze again, his hand stopping mid-stroke. Forgetting how to breathe, he turned his head around to find the older Nara's eyes looking right back at him. He gulped, searching the eyes for any indication of what was expected of him. Was he supposed to get up and go to his room? Was he supposed to sit and wait for his old man to tell him off for whacking off in their living room?
At the moment, Shikamaru felt exceptionally stupid for a genius he was taken for in the village. But as he gazed in the dark pools of the other Nara, he finally deciphered the silent message passed in the look: Get up.
Jaw tightened in tension, he pushed himself to his feet, his slacks back into place, covering him, and turned around to face his father. With a single nod of his chin Shikaku told him what to do next. His moves hesitant, Shikamaru rounded the couch and stood in front of the Jounin Commander, keeping his face as blank as he could manage, but aware that the flush across his cheeks was as evident as the tent in his pants.
He couldn't look away though. It wasn't in his blood, hell no. They were two shadow-nins, two Naras, in the middle of a staring contest, and Shikamaru knew his old man was searching his eyes for any sign of defiance, fear or hesitation.
And then, when he found none, he spoke in a quiet rasp.
"Hands on the sofa."
Shikamaru's eyes widened at the command, all blood rushing from his crotch to his face, and back from his face to his crotch.
Heart hammering in his chest, he complied, turning around to face the back of the couch. He moved his feet to walk closer and stand right behind it, but was stopped immediately by the large hand on his chest. His breath faltered, eyes finding those of his father.
But Shikaku just raised one eyebrow in the characteristic for the Nara men way, waiting for Shikamaru to comply to his earlier instruction. The expectant look was joined by the slight tilt of his chin.
Shikamaru looked back at the sofa and then at the distance between the piece of furniture and the spot he was standing in. And then, he knew instantly what Shikaku wanted him to do.
Bend over.
He gulped again, his chest heaving at the perspective.
Slowly, he lifted his arms and stretched them in front of his chest, bending almost in half to reach the back of the sofa and rest his hands there.
Dammit. Never in his live had he felt this exposed and vulnerable. He clenched his eyes at the realization that he was not just waiting, but actually anticipating what else his old man was going to say or do.
"Eyes on screen," Shikaku reminded, and Shikamaru sensed his presence right next to his left side.
Taking a staggering breath, the Chunin lifted his head from between his outstretched arms, eyes finding the screen. He gasped at the sight. The bottom guy was bent over, just like Shikamaru was, hands working as a support for the weight of his body, gripping tightly on the back of a chair, head thrown back in ecstasy.
Jesus…
His partner was gripping his hips tightly, pounding into him faster than the last time Shikamaru had looked. Movements perfectly coordinated, skin slapping against skin, creating obscene sounds that had Shikamaru's face even more flushed.
And then Shikaku's hand rested on his left shoulder blade; Shikamaru's eyes remained glued to the screen, but his whole attention was drawn to his father.
"Wondering what it feels like, huh?" he asked, his voice still low and quiet.
Shikamaru shivered, cursing in his mind for showing his embarrassment from being caught and so easily read.
Unable to lie and not bothering to even pretend, he gave a slow nod.
His honest response was rewarded with a gentle stroke of Shikaku's thumb over his still-clothed, jutting shoulder-blade. A moment filled with groaning and panting coming from the TV, and that hand moved, slowly travelling down his spine until it stopped on the slight dip of the small of his back.
Shikamaru's breath caught in his chest when Shikaku stepped to stand right behind him. He waited, chakra heightening his senses and mobilizing every nerve in his body to feel, to expect a touch, a movement, anything. All his attention was focused on the warmth of his father's hand soaking through his T-shirt.
He had no idea how much time passed before the older Nara placed his foot between Shikamaru's both and used it to urge the Chunin to set them even more apart, in effect spreading his thighs.
Shikamaru froze in anticipation.
He didn't have to wait for long.
Finally, Shikaku moved his hand south, letting it slide over the swell of Shikamaru's bottom.
The young Nara gasped when that large hand stroked his firm buttocks before squeezing one gently, causing him to close his eyes briefly before remembering he was supposed to keep them open. It took some serious amount of willpower to stop himself from pushing back against that warm palm, so Shikamaru sighed in relief when the hand moved.
That is, until he realized the hand was moving down, travelling slowly, only to slip between his legs. Shikamaru held his breath when it ghosted over his sac, biting down on his bottom lip, and then gasped when it reached his erection.
"Shit…" he hissed through clenched teeth, hands gripping tight on the soft top of the couch.
He heard a low hum coming from behind him. A moment later, Shikaku raised his other, left arm and let his palm rest on the small of Shikamaru's back, making sure he could hold him in place, while with his other hand he started to so-very-slowly stroke Shikamaru through his cargo pants.
A long groan came out from between his lips, joining the ones that were coming from the TV.
Kami, how good it felt, being touched like that, being held still and at the mercy of someone else. Shikaku continued to palm him, keeping his touch firm and sure but unhurried for a couple of long moments, before he had Shikamaru panting heavily. He then gave his son's hard length a light squeeze, eliciting a deep grunt from him, before he withdrew his hand.
Shikamaru couldn't help but follow, trying to push his hips back, but was stopped by the firm arm still draped around his lower back.
Dammit.
He took a shuddering breath, urging himself to calm down, fixing his eyes on the pair on the screen. Wrong move.
Then, Shikaku put both his hands on Shikamaru's hips, getting a firm but not really painful grip. Shikamaru breathed in sharply when he realized his old man mirrored the position from the record they'd been watching.
And then, Shikaku slowly pushed his own hips into Shikamaru's backside.
The Chunin couldn't help but groan.
He could feel the stiff hardness pressing against his buttocks and the new sensation almost made his knees buckle. He'd never felt something like this, he'd never felt someone else's erection, especially not pressing against him. At that moment all of his attention was brought to the spot where his old man's crotch and his backside touched, to those large hands that held his hips in a firm grip and, gods, to the way the man on the screen held his partner, his bottom, the very same way.
He felt Shikaku press harder before rolling his hips, stroking his length against Shikamaru's rounded buttocks, driving the teenager mad. He gripped the couch even tighter and let his lips fall open, his panting growing heavier.
"Fuck…" he breathed, trying to figure out how the hell something that simple could feel this good for him, where all the stimulation he was getting was something digging against his butt.
He abandoned the attempt at thinking in general when Shikaku withdrew, only to push back forward less than a second later. He repeated the action again, and again, setting an unhurried pace for his movements, beginning to grind into Shikamaru rhythmically.
His fingers dug deeper into Shikamaru's hips when the Chunin instinctively pushed back against his groin, causing him to growl.
"Eager, huh?" Shikaku asked, and Shikamaru could swear he heard a tone of amusement in his voice. Instead of answering, he stilled his hips and waited for his old man to push into him again. When he did, Shikamaru pushed back and rolled his hips, almost wriggling his bottom against Shikaku's crotch. The deep, low sound his dad let out made him shudder all over, his own erection giving a twitch of interest.
Fuck…
"More?" Shikaku asked, still annoyingly in control of his voice, which unfortunately worked for Shikamaru as an extra stimulation. Not wanting to risk having his own voice break while answering, he simply nodded, but when Shikaku did nothing but waited, he opened his mouth and licked his lips before speaking.
"Yeah."
The word must have been enough for his old man. The warmth disappeared from behind him when Shikaku's hips pulled back. Shikamaru felt those long fingers play with the waistband of his pants, grazing his olive skin, before finally curling under the hem. He held his breath when the fabric was pulled over his hips, so very slowly sliding over the rounded globes of his bottom.
He gasped when the cool air hit his heated skin, making him feel even more exposed.
On display.
Shikaku let the pants stop just above Shikamaru's knees, so as not to restrict the teenager's movements when he needed his legs open. He heard a sharp intake of breath when he let his hands rest on the backs of Shikamaru's muscled thighs, slowly travelling up, stopping to tease the delicate under-curve of his buttocks.
"Ah…" Shikamaru groaned at the touch, his skin prickling under the skillful fingers. Those strong hands continued to move up then, cupping his firm glutes, one on each cheek. Heart pounding in his chest, he felt calloused thumbs drawing small circles in tandem, almost soothingly, as if calming him down, preparing him for the next step.
The next step which pushed air from his lungs in a breathless gasp, when Shikaku squeezed the heated flesh firmly.
Fuck!
It was the first time Shikamaru allowed anyone to manhandle him like that. To grope him. Gods, and didn't it feel good.
He let his head hung low between his outstretched arms, knuckles already white from fisting the back of the couch. He abandoned the video playing on the screen and focused on feeling, on the touch of skin on skin where he'd never been touched before by another man.
Bent over like that, letting go of control and willingly taking the treatment applied to his backside, he was surprised how much he actually enjoyed it.
And then, his whole body tensed as Shikaku spread his round cheeks, exposing his crack.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
He forgot how to breathe, unable to move, holding his breath in anticipation. His eyes rounded in shock and alarm.
But the panic dissolved the moment Shikaku's thumb grazed softly over his untouched entrance.
"Nngh…" Shikamaru moaned, his mouth hanging open on the choked sound that escaped his throat, eyes clenching tightly.
Fuck!
He took a shuddering breath to fill his lungs with air. When Shikaku circled the puckered hole with the pad of his thumb again, Shikamaru's hips bucked involuntarily, another uncontrolled sound leaving his lips. His chest heaved, breath coming out of him in harsh, loud pants. All of his attention was narrowed to that tight ring of muscle, the most intimate part of his body that no one had ever seen, let alone touched.
Shikaku continued to tease his entrance with his thumb, circling around it, then grazing right across it, but never pushing in. He kept the touch light and gentle, almost playful. He wanted to get Shikamaru used to it and maybe work him up a bit, make him feel just a bit frustrated.
After a couple of long moments passed, he tore his gaze away from the quivering muscle and fixed it on the back of Shikamaru's bowed head. The Chunin was trembling with anticipation, his hands fisting the soft fabric of the sofa Shikaku had bought years ago. He was taking it more than well, but the Jounin Commander lingered with proceeding.
That is, until Shikamaru pressed back, consciously or not, silently asking for more.
That prompted Shikaku to action.
He withdrew his hand, stroking Shikamaru's right buttock for a moment, before the touch was taken away completely. Instead, he reached his right arm forward, over Shikamaru's shoulder, until he got it in the young Nara's view.
"Here," he murmured in a low, hoarse voice, prompting the Chunin to look up at the two fingers he held out in front of his face. "Get them wet."
Shikamaru's eyes widened. He inhaled sharply, anxiety coiling in his gut, mixing with excitement and curiosity. He did want to know. To feel. And now he could.
Letting go off his bottom lip, Shikamaru watched the fingers for a moment, as if expecting them to do something strange. But they didn't even flinch. They waited for Shikamaru.
Slowly, he parted his lips and let the long fingers to enter, closing his mouth around them. His eyes fluttering shut, he waited a moment before he flicked his tongue against the salty skin of the calloused digits.
Behind him, Shikaku let out a low grunt when he was enveloped into the wet heat, the moist muscle sliding, tasting. The older Nara let himself enjoy the way Shikamaru's slick tongue teased his skin, discovering every crease and the gap between his middle and index fingers, before he pressed them together, urging the Chunin to suck.
Shikamaru obliged. He worked his mouth, producing more and more saliva, coating those fingers in it. He couldn't help but think about how one, let alone two, would fit inside him.
Dammit.
When the digits were wet enough, Shikaku pulled them out, deliberately creating a soft pop when they left Shikamaru's lips. The Chunin shook at the sound, and Shikaku could feel the heat emanating from his flushed, young face.
Bringing his hand for closer inspection he noticed with satisfaction that his fingers were dripping with spit. Good. He didn't want to make this unnecessarily painful.
Watching the kid for reaction, he used his left hand to spread Shikamaru's cheeks, bringing the other to the exposed crack. Carefully, he slipped his index finger down the cleft, humming low at the breathy gasp that came from the teenager, before bringing it to the puckered ring of muscle. He caressed it with the wet digit, circling and teasing for long minutes, driving Shikamaru restless.
And then, Shikakau applied some pressure, and Shikamaru felt that finger pressing gently into him.
The sound that left his mouth was embarrassing enough to make his face flush.
Eyes clenched tightly, knuckles white from gripping the backrest of sofa, he allowed the long digit to enter him slowly.
As Shikaku pushed more and more of the finger inside, Shikamaru's body responded instinctively, clenching around it. He then felt the Jounin's other hand rest on his back. He barely registered how it moved up and down in unhurried strokes along his spine, caressing, soothing, while he took the digit in.
"Relax," Shikaku's deep, smoky murmur sounded in his ears.
Easier said than done, dad.
Shikamaru took a deep, shuddering breath in and forced his body to follow the advice, loosening his tensed muscles alerted at the intrusion. It burned, unsurprisingly, and he thanked himself for using so much spit on the older Nara's fingers before.
"Shit…" he breathed, his pulse so loud that he could barely hear his own hoarse voice.
Shikaku hummed in response, finally burying the last inch of his finger inside the tight passage. He didn't move it for several long moments, wanting Shikamaru to get accustomed to the feeling of being filled. With his other hand, he continued to stroke the tanned plains of Shikamaru's back under his shirt, watching the muscles flex under the ministrations and then relax into the warm touch.
He gave the kid a couple more moments before he started to move, so very slowly as if he was tending to an injured deer. He pulled out to the first knuckle and then carefully pushed back in, watching as inch by inch his finger disappeared inside his son.
Shikamaru groaned, and the sound stirred something in Shikaku's gut. He repeated the action, then again and again, until he was fingering him slowly but rhythmically.
"Fuck…"
Shikamaru couldn't help but let out all the sounds that crashed together in the back of his throat.
Then, Shikaku stilled his finger before starting to move inside, caressing Shikamaru's inner walls, his own breath heaving at the heat that embraced the digit.
Shikamaru abandoned the idea of ever closing his mouth again, as he started to think he would never be able to breathe normally without gasping out for air like he'd been drowning. Shikaku did something inside him, crooked his finger and moved around, and Shikamaru didn't have time to let out another breathy noise when suddenly thousands of white spots danced in front of his eyes, his breath caught in his chest.
A sharp breath and then he moaned, really moaned, loud and sinful, the sound dripping with immense pleasure.
When Shikaku touched that spot deep within him again, his back arched, head thrown back, exposing the tall column of his throat.
God!
He continued to let out all sorts of embarrassing noises as the other Nara proceeded to stroke his finger against that sensitive spot. He could feel the heavy erection between his legs twitching with every single touch, dripping from the tip. He wanted nothing more than to reach one hand down between his thighs, grip his aching length, and stroke himself to orgasm. And he would have done that if he hadn't been sure he would collapse if the support his both arms provided was taken away.
Growing more and more desperate, he started to move, rolling his hips against Shikaku's finger. He would think about how wanton he must have looked later.
After I come.
Gods, how he wanted to. He thought he'd never been this aroused in his entire life. Not to mention desperate. Burning.
"Feel like you can take one more?" Shikaku's smoky voice murmured from behind him.
Shikamaru groaned at the perspective.
More? Could he even fit another finger inside?
Kami, but how he wanted to try. The nervous flicker that shook his body was joined immediately by a spark of excitement. And then, by something even stronger. Something hot and overwhelming, consuming.
Desire.
Unable to construct a single word and voice his answer, he gave a gentle but sure nod with his head.
The second he did, that finger that made him see all white retreated and, to his annoyance, he let out a quiet whimper when it withdrew from his channel completely, involuntarily clenching the ring of muscle.
A short moment later, the finger was back, joined by another one, and Shikamaru stilled.
Shit, shit, shit.
He felt Shikaku's large hand stroking his back soothingly.
"Deep breaths, kid," he murmured, and a moment later, after Shikamaru took a breath in, the Chunin felt two slicked fingers press against his entrance.
He fisted the blanket thrown over the backrest of the couch, mouth hanging open on a silent cry.
It burned. It burned like hell.
Not that Shikamaru wasn't expecting that, no. Yet, he still grimaced and let out another weak growl as those fingers pushed their way through his tight channel.
He only let the air out form his lungs when the digits were finally buried fully inside him. Shikaku gave him a couple of minutes to get used to the feeling, his free hand still moving in slow, comforting circles under Shikamaru's shirt.
After an extra moment, the Jounin Commander moved the fingers experimentally. The action drew a gasp from his son, but having heard no pain in his voice, he decided it was save to go on.
At first, he let the digits remain inside, gliding over the hot inner walls.
Then, he slowly withdrew them, waited a moment, and pushed them back in, going so agonizingly slow that Shikamaru's hands twitched on the sofa. The feeling of being stretched like that had his pulse quickening and his mouth going dry. Through the heavy daze in his head, he focused all attention on the way those long fingers pulled out and entered him gently, again and again.
Just when Shikamaru thought he managed to regain the ability to stabilize his breathing, Shikaku touched that deep-hidden spot that made him feel so damn good.
The sound he made was so loud and shameless that it should have made him go up in flames.
He was beyond the point of caring though.
Somewhere behind him, with the last conscious and working part of his brain, he registered a low grunt of approval at his moan. Not that it mattered - even if his old man held a kunai to his throat Shikamaru didn't think he would be able to stop himself from groaning.
He continued to voice his pleasure as those skilled fingers stroked his prostate relentlessly in slow, precise brushes of soft pads. Glowing stars danced before his eyes, taking away his vision, but giving in return so much more than he could have ever expected to feel.
And then, Shikaku started to really move. He returned to the system of pushing in and out of Shikamaru's body, speeding up the thrusts of his hand.
"Fuck!" Shikamaru groaned out. Unable to stay still, he started to rock against his old man's hand, involuntarily rolling his hips against the working digits.
With every single push-in, the fingers hit that sensitive bundle of nerves, sending waves of pleasure straight to his neglected erection, driving Shikamaru insane with want.
No. With need.
He felt heat pooling low in his stomach, his orgasm slowly building up.
Dammit… Yes…
"I-…" he husked, but the sound turned into a loud gasp as Shikaku pushed in again and crooked his fingers, sending Shikamaru over the edge.
White glow blinded Shikamaru's vision as his body shuddered with the intensity of the orgasm when it hit.
He let out a choked sound, back arching in his bent-over position. His knees buckled under his weight. He would have fallen on the rug under his feet if it wasn't for Shikaku's strong arm holding him around his waist while his other hand continued to finger Shikamaru, letting him ride it out.
When the young Nara stopped trembling, coming down from the haze, Shikaku withdrew his touch, making Shikamaru gasp quietly as fingers slipped out of him. The Jounin Commander made sure to support Shikamaru's heaving weight while his other hand returned to Shikamaru's back, slipping under the shirt to stroke the heated skin.
They stayed like that for several minutes, the only sound in the room being Shikamaru's soft panting as he tried to regain control over his breathing. He needed air back in his lungs.
Once he calmed down enough to think again, he clenched his eyes shut tightly.
What the hell just happened?
The answer came when his old man reminded about his presence when he reached for Shikamaru's cargo pants and pulled them gently up and over the Chunin's hips. That woke Shikamaru up. He slowly straightened up, cursing in his mind when his normally powerful legs trembled from all the stimulation and the shift in weight. He moved his strained arms to tuck his spent member back into the pants, zipping up carefully to avoid any unnecessary injuries.
That's when he looked down and noticed the white stains of his release on the otherwise smooth and flawless rug his parents once got from Yoshino's mother.
"Oh, dammit," Shikamaru muttered under his nose. He could already imagine his mother's face the moment she discovers that her precious rug had been violated.
At his silent display of frustration, Shikaku chuckled. Chuckled.
Stunned at the reaction, considering the situation they were in, Shikamaru looked up to find the dark eyes, so similar to his own, looking back at him.
"You better clean that up before your mom gets a heart attack," Shikaku said, raising a single eyebrow at him.
Shikamaru blinked, dumbfounded.
Had he imagined what had just happened there or was his father seriously that comfortable with it?
Guessing Shikamaru's train of thoughts, Shikaku's eyes lost their spark of amusement and became more serious. After a long moment of an eye-staring contest during which his old man searched for something in his face, Shikaku looked away.
Instead, he brought his right hand to Shikamaru's shoulder and squeezed.
Comfort?
Reassurance?
Shikamaru didn't know, but before he could ask or do anything, the older Nara stepped away from him and slowly walked out of the room.