Naruto Kinks
folder
Naruto › Het - Male/Female
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
25
Views:
3,895
Reviews:
23
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Naruto › Het - Male/Female
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
25
Views:
3,895
Reviews:
23
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own Naruto, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Sai, Ink
Sai: Ink
Water glistened in dark splotches down the hallway, revealing a trail of footprints across the wood flooring, each ensuing imprint lighter than the last until finally disappearing in the living room. Sai paused in his trek to the fridge, lowered the towel from where he rubbed it over his hair.
There was no mistaking it: someone had infiltrated his apartment in the time he'd spent in the shower.
“Get back in your bottle.”
A noticeably darker footprint several back furled itself from the floorboard in reply, twisting languidly into the form of a black mamba as it reared back. The ink snake slithered in place, shimmering from the undulations.
Sai dropped the towel to the floor, hands itching to replace it with a weapon and felt his features contort into the hollow semblance of a simper. It had become something of a habit lately, forcing a smile in the face of danger. “I didn't call for you.”
Sai caught a movement in the corner of his eye and whipped his head in time to witness a portion of his shadow thicken and detach from the wall where it reached for the light switch. Reflexively, he lunged for his paintbrush on the coffee table, and then the room went dark.
The coffee table tilted into his shins violently, and he fumbled for the rolling paintbrush, hand guided poorly by its sound. Furniture jutted in sharp outlines of black on blacker, suddenly morphing into new shapes. A prowling tigress with persimmons for eyes overturned a barstool in the kitchen; a macaw with skewer tail-feathers clinked down on the counter top in a tumult of scratches, knocking a jar of pickled plums to shatter on the tile. Sai ripped the remaining bath towel from around his hips, jerking through the surrounding air when a large insect splattered into his cheek.
He retreated several steps backward, intending to run for the door (he could admit when he was at a disadvantage) but slipped in an unforeseen puddle and went down hard.
His head hit the floor with an audible crack and he winced, for the briefest of moments feeling as if he'd fallen into a genjutsu to rival even Sasuke-kun's.
The puddle solidified, once more taking the form of a snake (though larger now having merged with other ink blobs), entwining with his legs and slowly coiling up his torso.
“I don't need—” Sai gasped as it restricted once, cutting his protest short.
A cool, thin tongue flickered beneath his ear.
A human outline dropped from the ceiling, the featureless face staring down at him as the shape filled and morphed into several recognizable imitations: Sasuke-kun, Naruto-kun, Sakura-san, and finally, settling on the obvious mimicry of himself. In a way it seemed suitable.
The ink figure of himself stooped by his side, a liquid hand leaving a smear across his abdomen as it slipped lower. Warm, somehow it felt warm against his skin. Then several things happened at once: the hand touched him, encircling the length of his cock, the snake bit into his neck hard enough to bruise, and his heart skipped a beat in the first indication of his fear. But that couldn't be right, he never felt anything.
Except that whatever his self was doing between his legs sure felt like something.
Sai swallowed hard, twisting some against the snake's hold. He remembered a time when the ink had escaped before, but his brother had been there to help him re-bottle the substance. Had the ink wanted to do this to him that time as well? Had the ink wanted to do this to his brother?
He felt his skin flush even in the coolness of the room. His reactions made no sense, but he didn't know what face he should be making. He writhed without meaning to, the pressure between his legs growing steadily as the ink hand continued to move. What kind of attack would make him lose control of his body in such a way? It seemed somewhat ineffectual except that he possibly didn't want to stop it... so it must be a technique to cause him to lower his guard.
Grunting, Sai turned his face away, searching for the paintbrush as the boa's mouth ground against his skin. He focused on the pain in an attempt to clear his head, gritting his teeth in the same motion and finally spotted the edge of the brush peeking from beneath the couch.
Now, to get to it.
Sai's attention snapped back at the long stroke of a tongue painting charcoal swirls across his chest. The wet lapping lingered when it reached a nipple, and the boa constrictor loosened enough to allow for his panting. The hand sped it's motions, tightening the muscles in his legs.
He was getting closer, closer to—
“That's enough,” he choked, but his voice lacked resolve.
The blank face tilted up at his words, pausing before closing in on his lips. Sai jerked, ensuing protest muffled by the invasive substance. Ink, it tasted like ink. Metallic and acrid.
The snake thinned and stretched, winding more fully around his upper body but freeing his aching legs in the process. They were trembling, and he couldn't stay still, and a hand was spreading them in preparation for whatever he felt press against his opening.
The ink self pushed in, and the macaw screamed from the kitchen.
Water glistened in dark splotches down the hallway, revealing a trail of footprints across the wood flooring, each ensuing imprint lighter than the last until finally disappearing in the living room. Sai paused in his trek to the fridge, lowered the towel from where he rubbed it over his hair.
There was no mistaking it: someone had infiltrated his apartment in the time he'd spent in the shower.
“Get back in your bottle.”
A noticeably darker footprint several back furled itself from the floorboard in reply, twisting languidly into the form of a black mamba as it reared back. The ink snake slithered in place, shimmering from the undulations.
Sai dropped the towel to the floor, hands itching to replace it with a weapon and felt his features contort into the hollow semblance of a simper. It had become something of a habit lately, forcing a smile in the face of danger. “I didn't call for you.”
Sai caught a movement in the corner of his eye and whipped his head in time to witness a portion of his shadow thicken and detach from the wall where it reached for the light switch. Reflexively, he lunged for his paintbrush on the coffee table, and then the room went dark.
The coffee table tilted into his shins violently, and he fumbled for the rolling paintbrush, hand guided poorly by its sound. Furniture jutted in sharp outlines of black on blacker, suddenly morphing into new shapes. A prowling tigress with persimmons for eyes overturned a barstool in the kitchen; a macaw with skewer tail-feathers clinked down on the counter top in a tumult of scratches, knocking a jar of pickled plums to shatter on the tile. Sai ripped the remaining bath towel from around his hips, jerking through the surrounding air when a large insect splattered into his cheek.
He retreated several steps backward, intending to run for the door (he could admit when he was at a disadvantage) but slipped in an unforeseen puddle and went down hard.
His head hit the floor with an audible crack and he winced, for the briefest of moments feeling as if he'd fallen into a genjutsu to rival even Sasuke-kun's.
The puddle solidified, once more taking the form of a snake (though larger now having merged with other ink blobs), entwining with his legs and slowly coiling up his torso.
“I don't need—” Sai gasped as it restricted once, cutting his protest short.
A cool, thin tongue flickered beneath his ear.
A human outline dropped from the ceiling, the featureless face staring down at him as the shape filled and morphed into several recognizable imitations: Sasuke-kun, Naruto-kun, Sakura-san, and finally, settling on the obvious mimicry of himself. In a way it seemed suitable.
The ink figure of himself stooped by his side, a liquid hand leaving a smear across his abdomen as it slipped lower. Warm, somehow it felt warm against his skin. Then several things happened at once: the hand touched him, encircling the length of his cock, the snake bit into his neck hard enough to bruise, and his heart skipped a beat in the first indication of his fear. But that couldn't be right, he never felt anything.
Except that whatever his self was doing between his legs sure felt like something.
Sai swallowed hard, twisting some against the snake's hold. He remembered a time when the ink had escaped before, but his brother had been there to help him re-bottle the substance. Had the ink wanted to do this to him that time as well? Had the ink wanted to do this to his brother?
He felt his skin flush even in the coolness of the room. His reactions made no sense, but he didn't know what face he should be making. He writhed without meaning to, the pressure between his legs growing steadily as the ink hand continued to move. What kind of attack would make him lose control of his body in such a way? It seemed somewhat ineffectual except that he possibly didn't want to stop it... so it must be a technique to cause him to lower his guard.
Grunting, Sai turned his face away, searching for the paintbrush as the boa's mouth ground against his skin. He focused on the pain in an attempt to clear his head, gritting his teeth in the same motion and finally spotted the edge of the brush peeking from beneath the couch.
Now, to get to it.
Sai's attention snapped back at the long stroke of a tongue painting charcoal swirls across his chest. The wet lapping lingered when it reached a nipple, and the boa constrictor loosened enough to allow for his panting. The hand sped it's motions, tightening the muscles in his legs.
He was getting closer, closer to—
“That's enough,” he choked, but his voice lacked resolve.
The blank face tilted up at his words, pausing before closing in on his lips. Sai jerked, ensuing protest muffled by the invasive substance. Ink, it tasted like ink. Metallic and acrid.
The snake thinned and stretched, winding more fully around his upper body but freeing his aching legs in the process. They were trembling, and he couldn't stay still, and a hand was spreading them in preparation for whatever he felt press against his opening.
The ink self pushed in, and the macaw screamed from the kitchen.