Dark Places

AN: Thanks for the warm welcome! I'm very slow with updating because I actually haven't finished the story yet. Chapter 2 took a long time since I keep re-writing it over and over again. This is version five and I really hope it's readable. Happy reading, and if you like it, a review would be good.

A


Chapter 2


A foreign room. With water stained ceiling and peeling paint. Mildew and the scent of old cooking wafting in gases waves through blinking street lights. Dirty sheets, gritty with dust and old human stains. The bed creaks and shudders, breaking at the hinges with movement.

His hair moves over the white of his arm, stark and wet, soaked with his sweat. His fingers clench and unclench, drawing blunt nails across the pillow that smelled like hair.

It feels foreign to be here, but familiar too. Like every dark room of his life, this one probably wasn’t much different. Only they charged fifty an hour instead of the usual thirty. He was moving up in the world.

The cock jerks deeper, past his unclenching ring and into the grip of his body. It moves again, upwards to probe at the walls, making it hurt, and making him cry. But it feels good in that not so good way. It feels good because he’d asked for it.

His stranger, his fucker, his owner between the stroke of midnight to one was moaning. Growling over his back, sweeping a sweaty hand across the skin of his ass. Touching and scraping, squeezing and twisting his self into a toy. He wanted to be tied up and made helpless, but he wasn’t stupid enough to trust a stranger.

Between the drone of traffic and flashing neon signs, he studies the headboard. The metal was rusted, twisted into old gothika ruined by air and time. He suddenly wanted to touch it, to touch something, anything that made this real.

A hard thrust drove him forward, skinning his knees across threadbare cotton. Big hands pried at the butt cheeks, spreading him wide. Most likely watching the cock squelching into his hole. The rhythm slows, easier to bare but frustrating and wearing on his patience. The pad of a finger rubs along his stretched muscle, and the cock leaves abruptly.

He was flipped onto his back. The dimness hiding the stranger’s face. He didn’t want to see, he didn’t want to know, he’d forget like he always did and life would be normal again – at least until next time. But the buzzing of a vibrator made his eyes widen and the prick of needle between his toes made his heart race.

Sasuke’s anonymous fuck just went straight to hell.

Two minutes was spent on futile struggling while whatever in his veins worked quicker than anything he’d expected. His vision was suddenly narrowing, like he was being sucked into a hole, but everything else became unbearably amplified.

The vibrator was waving across his face, large and ribbed, longer than any he’d ever seen. It pressed against his cheek, sliding along the sweat on his face until it was brushing against his lips. He wasn’t going to open his mouth, but the hand at his jaw gripped and the replacement cock forced its way down his throat.
Sasuke choked, his eyes watered and his lungs burned. He thought it was as bad as it was going to get, until a finger flipped a switch and his throat was shuddering with vibrations. It made him sick and shook his cramping belly. But it didn’t distract the feeling of his legs being lifted, spread wide and pushed against his chest.

The dildo was pulled from his throat, trailing a thick string of saliva tinted pink with his blood. He watched as the thing hovered between his cheeks before suddenly delving deep. Pushed and twisting relentlessly. Too full, he felt split apart. In and out and in some more. His erection ebbed and his balls shrank into itself.

It wasn’t a fuck anymore. He really should start panicking soon but the fight or flight instinct was dulled and all he could do was lie there and take the punishment.

Slut
The voice echoed. Calm and collected and everything the man working his hand into him wasn’t.

He was hurting and the pain wasn’t the real cock and dildo in his ass at the same time.

He was fucking dying. And all it took was the voice of him.

OOOOOO

In the cafeteria smelling of old burgers and stale coffee, Kiba found Naruto hunched in a rickety plastic chair. With his face plastered against an open file and mouth half gaping, it reminded Kiba of their old academy days.

With a loud slap, his hand connected with the table against Naruto’s sleeping face.

“Fuck!”

Naruto jumped out the chair, bleary eyed and semi-alert. His head shook to clear the cobwebs from his brain while his right hand instinctively reached under his jacket for the holster.

Safety off

The sound of the cock clicking into place thundered through the half empty room.

Hands grabbed at his shoulders, arms and the gun in his hand. He was a moment from punching away whoever was grabbing him when the off-white walls and grimy windows caught his attention.

Cafeteria. I’m in the fucking cafeteria.

Calming down, he let the gun drop. It landed with a muffled thump into the catching hand, and a warmth at his neck gently pushed him into the chair behind him.

“Wound up much?”

“Shut up.”

The gun was returned and replaced inside its synthetic leather holder. Smelling his trigger finger, Naruto grimaced. He hated the smell of metal and oil.

“Find anything?”

Still open, the file he’d been reading slid across the table.

“He was a Kaguya.”

“Doesn’t ring a bell.”

It barely rang a bell with Naruto, had he not written his final paper in the academy on the breakdown of procedural break and entry.

Almost six years ago now, mid-winter. Emergency got a call, no caller just muffled background noise. The operator hanged onto the call for about a minute, and heard something that sounded like a scream.

Twenty minutes later, the call had been traced and the cops arrived on-site along with their sweep teams. Nobody stayed back from the get-go. Not when you hear the name Kaguya and the chance to finally put those crazies away.

The next thirty minutes was a war zone. No one knew who was doing what and where. No radio setup, no communication and no plan. There was absolutely nothing procedural about the whole incident.

When the smoke cleared and the screams finally died down, they found a single kid alive. White hair and aqua eyed. Holding a switch-blade, covered in blood and shivering like a new-born rat.

They thought he couldn’t speak until the child psychologist determined he could, just didn’t know a word. A week after that, the whole thing was sugar coated to the public and everyone was rejoicing the fact that the streets were a little cleaner now. Funny how no one questioned any of it when none of the cops got decorated for anything.

As for the kid, they found a birth certificate for Kaguya Kimimaro. From then on, he was a ward of the state and nobody gave a shit afterwards.

Kiba was staring at Kimimaro’s profile photo when Naruto stopped recounting. His lips tight and forehead furrowed in a frown. Naruto didn’t expect him to say anything. They were cops now, and cops always stuck together. It came with the career.

“Shika’s here.”

Kiba dropped the photo, closed the file and stood up. Naruto followed. Maybe Shika had something new.