ANBU, We Have a Problem

Part II: Ibiki’s Problem

Ibiki arrived in Shu’s bedroom quietly, wanting to surprise him. There was something about the way Shu looked when surprised and confused that was irresistible. He was not only irresistible, he was the best fucking thing that ever happened to Ibiki. He was—ah, his mind couldn’t even begin to describe the wonder of being in love with Shu, making love to Shu, doing all those crazy, amazing things to Shu. God, when Shu begged him, oh, that was when he was sure Shu felt it too, felt the wonder of the bond between them. The happy excitement Ibiki always felt when he was going to have sex with Shu, doubled as the ANBU torture expert took in the sights and sounds of his lover, rocking on his bed and whimpering. Oh, god, he’s masturbating, he thought, his excitement instantly tripling. He’s got himself on the edge, he’s lost in his desire!

Then Ibiki’s world fell apart.

That was a sob.

Shu wasn’t rocking and whimpering in pleasure, but pain.

The truth flashed into Ibiki’s mind: Shu didn’t love him, didn’t want him, and, right now didn’t even like him anymore. Memories surged up, mocking Ibiki, reminding him how Shu always resisted at first, how he’d never said a single word of affection, how he’d joked and laughed less and less, and a million other clues that Ibiki had read wrong. Ibiki transported back to his bedroom and sat on the bed. For the first time in months, he felt like himself again: cold, alert, almost omniscient, and completely divorced from his body and emotions. There, there shut away in that part of his mind, was the Ibiki that thought in poetry, that let desire override knowledge, that refused to see reality. That Ibiki was hurt, guilty, devastated, and stupid, very stupid.

Ah! Even as he noted that, he could feel that emotional part of him sealing up, freezing over, vanishing. Guilt, love, regret, pain—yes, to be human was to feel that. But to survive, you let a part of you feel it, a part you put deep inside, inside where nothing could touch it. This was his strength, this was how he’d survived that torture, survived the loss of his brother, survived the loss of his body’s beauty, well, just survived. And like his dreams of living with his brother, growing old with his brother, his dreams of loving Shu and the beautiful Shu loving him back, well, they were merely memories of dreams now, distant things, things you put away like childhood toys.

To imagine that the words he couldn’t say, all that odd poetry that filled his mind when he was having sex with Shu, could have been said by his body, had been foolish. Shu had not been shy, not been fighting embarrassment over claiming to love one man and falling in love with another. No, he’d never stopped loving Kotetsu. He was confused and weak. Ibiki had forgotten that other people, no matter how strong they looked, were very different from him. He’d wanted to forget that Shu was different, and that want had made him twist reality to match his desire—something Ibiki must never do again. No, not must, he would never do again.

No, never again would he forget that just because Ibiki would never let himself be talked into sex when he didn’t want to have it, that didn’t mean that someone else wouldn’t. Of course he had known that. In his job, how often had he seen people choose pleasure now, even if when they knew it would cause pain later? Sitting in his room, thinking clearly for the first time in months, it was really quite astonishing that he’d deluded himself into thinking that Shu was falling in love with him.

Ibiki sat still on his bed, expressionless, and calculated how to repair the damage he’d done to the man that the weak, stupid part of him loved. No, had loved, or, no--he wouldn’t lie to himself—soon would have once loved. Ah! He could inspire Shu to be stronger, to go after Kotetsu, to work on actively solving his romantic problems if he provided an example for him. Maybe Shu would even be able to see Ibiki as someone who had taught him something painful, but helpful. Maybe he wouldn’t hate or fear him. Maybe he could forgive him.

No.

Ibiki slammed shut the door to that emotional place inside him that had flown open. He wouldn’t let his thinking be distorted again. Now, he had to pretend to be in Shu’s shoes, no in Shu’s situation intensified: a man in love with a guy he’d sleep with once, who in turn was now sleeping with other men. Ibiki would tell Shu that he’d tried to fall in love with him, tried to forget his “real” love, and had taken out all his sexual frustration and anger on Shu. Then he’d say how he’d realized he couldn’t do it anymore, he had realized that if he couldn’t do it with the man he loved, he wouldn’t do it, and he would spend all the time he’d spent trying to forget with Shu, chasing his true love.

And to make Shu believe it, he’d have to do it—have to spend time pursuing someone who scorned and rejected him. But his “love” would have to be in on it because he couldn’t risk someone actually thinking he was seriously in love with him, or well, letting himself be persuaded to give up the other men and only sleep with Ibiki, which was supposedly his goal. Because, given his “success” with Shu, he could talk a man into have sex with him. But he must never, never forget that he couldn’t talk a man into loving him or talk him out of it. From behind the shut door inside him, a voice screamed out, “Love is a sick, perverse bitch!” The cold analytical part of Ibiki’s mind saw that as an inadequate personification, but it certainly seemed to apply to his current situation.

Now, who could he get to play the role of his insensitive, slutty love interest? Ah, of course, ANBU’s latest slutty uke: Nara Shikamaru.

Three days later, Ibiki approached Shikamaru, who had just returned home from a mission that morning. Both he and Chouji had little red cat bowls now; Ibiki had recruited them after Kurohyou had gotten involved with Izumo. It had been clear he needed to find some ukes, fast, or his nins would take the search into their own hands—not a good idea. Shikamaru, being lazy, enjoyed the opportunity to have sex without any effort exerted—literally. He could lay there and take it, get off, and not worry about things like emotions, dates, what to say, what to wear, or what moves to make. He was pretty ideal as an ANBU uke, putting the bowl out regularly, letting the first guy or guys in, letting them do just about whatever they wanted until he’d gotten off, and then sending them on their way and sleeping contentedly, no tears, no regrets, no worries.

Once the nins had figured out that getting Shikamaru to come meant they would be going, they’d worked on getting and keeping the Nara excited, but not excited enough to come. It was a fine line—if they didn’t keep him excited, he’d lose interest and tell them they had five minutes left before he was booting them, and if they overdid it, he would of course orgasm and want them gone. But he put the bowl out pretty much every night he was in Konoha and not exhausted from a mission or preparing for one, so it didn’t matter if your visit was short—you’d have a chance to come back again.

Chouji, on the other hand, rarely put out his bowl, and if more than one ANBU nin showed up at the same time, he’d refuse them all and take the bowl back in. It had only take two times with that happening for the men to figure out that it was absolutely important that only one of them respond when the Akimichi put out his bowl. It was also extremely important for the lucky nin that got let inside to not talk and be very gentle and slow. Chouji was very shy when it came to sex, conscious of his body’s size, and embarrassed that he preferred uke when most people assumed he was a seme type. But he was also extremely emotional and had incredible stamina. Moreover, he could shift the shape of his body, a classic Akimichi clan technique. That meant that his ass, his mouth, and his hands always felt perfect. Chouji was, in some ways, better as an ANBU uke than Shikamaru because he gave the men something to obsess over, brag about, and in general burn off a lot of energy over in the thrill of the chase. Chouji probably had no idea how much fighting occurred in the time between when he set that bowl down on his balcony, and a gloved hand softly knocked on his sliding glass door.

But Ibiki needed someone more heartless and cynical, and yes, more slutty, than Chouji to help him with his problem with Shu, and that was why he was at Shikamaru’s. The shadow-user listened to Ibiki’s request, lying down on his bed, his eyes shut. He really was very difficult to read, thought Ibiki, and hard to motivate. Well, if the Nara turned him down, he’d ask Kakashi. In the silence while he waited for Shikamaru to respond, it occurred to Ibiki that in some ways maybe Kakashi was the better choice—he’d already made public his desire to sleep with him.

But Shu knew that Kakashi was the first guy after Shu that Kotetsu had fooled around with—and that might complicate things. Besides, the same night Ibiki said he wanted to sleep with him, he’d encouraged Kakashi to take home three guys and promised to ask him about sleeping with others, so claiming to love him would seem ridiculous. But claiming to be in love with Shikamaru, whom he’d recruited to sleep with his ANBU operatives, well, that was pretty unlikely too. But whom else could he possibly ask?

“You’re in love with Shu, aren’t you?” asked Shikamaru.

Fuck! He really was a genius. Well, of course, I should have expected him to figure that out. Why am I surprised?

“My feelings are irrelevant,” said Ibiki.

“Are you still sleeping with him?”

“No.”

There was a little more silence, and then Shikamaru said, “If I had sleep with you, why would I stop sleeping with you if you wanted to keep doing it with me? This is supposed to model Shu’s love for Kotetsu, isn’t it?”

Fuck! He knew about Kotetsu and Shu, too. And fuck, that was a good question.

“You supposedly stopped sleeping with me,” said Shikamaru slowly, “because to have sex without love was painful, too painful for you, Morino Ibiki.”

Well, when Shikamaru said it like that, it did sound silly. But, truth was silly; Ibiki falling in love with Shu was silly. Shu having sex with him, coming so much, begging for all those kinky things, and hating it was silly. Oh!

“You don’t want to sleep with me anymore because I convince you to do things you don’t want to do, I make you beg for them,” he told Shikamaru.

Shikamaru sighed. And that sigh made the door on his internal emotions fly open. The little shit didn’t think Ibiki could do that, and the kinky little shit probably thought there was nothing sexual that would bother him. So he let some ANBU nins fist him, do him two at a time, tie him up, spill wax on him, oh, hell, pretty much go through the master list of kinks. Oh, wait, he was lazy, that was the unbelievable part, yes, his lovers could do kinky shit to him as long as he didn’t have to go to any effort. Shikamaru didn’t respond to orders, didn’t beg, didn't make any effort at all. Ha! Well, he hadn’t experienced Morino Ibiki, yet, had he?

“Shikamaru,” said Ibiki, “you look like you could use a fuck now. Why don’t you just relax and let me get you off? I know what I’m asking you to do, letting me pursue you for a month, seems troublesome, but it isn’t. It just means that I’ll treat you like the great love of my life. I’ll send you poems and take you out for expensive meals. I’ll give you little gifts, things you’d like, but can’t be bothered to go get or would think the money was wasted on—the finest writing brushes, soft silk boxers, the best leather boots money can buy.”

Shikamaru rolled over on his side, propping his head up on his elbow. He looked at Ibiki calmly, raising one eyebrow. “No flowers?”

“Ah, you like flowers,” said Ibiki. “Won’t it be amusing to have me picking out flowers for you, showering you with gifts, trying to worm my way into your heart? You can watch my strategies and try to block them. It will be a game, such a lovely game.” Ibiki was using his seductive voice, pulling off his clothing in an odd pattern—quick stripping intermingled with slow, sensual removals. His overcoat, his jacket, his shoes—all gone in a flash. And then his gloves, worked off with his mouth, one finger at a time. His t-shirt was whipped off in a blink, but his pants, he unzipped slow and lowered even more slowly, as if the feel of the fabric on his body was a caress. His underwear was gone in a second, but then he turned and undid the knot on his forehead protector that covered his head’s scars slowly, letting the fabric slide away from him reluctantly.

He turned slowly, pitching his voice in a tone designed to seduce, “Shikamaru, I’m sorry I’m not pretty like you. You can close your eyes if you want, imagine someone else here, someone else hard for you, just like I am.” He saw the Nara’s eyes drop to his aroused cock, and he ran his hand over himself. “Or maybe you like looking, like seeing how aroused men get when they see you there on the bed stiffening in your pants. Ah, you intrigue me, Shikamaru. What will you look like when you come? Will that bored, disinterested face show just a little bit of passion? Will you pant for me? Will you kiss me just a little bit?” Ibiki kept his voice talking, his special voice, the one that promised men the pain would stop, that lulled them into a state of submission. He’d found that the tone, the sound of his voice was more important than the words some times. And the secret, the secret of his voice was he let those emotions, those ones buried deep seep into it, shape it, show in it. Yes, his longing, his needs, his loneliness, his pain, his passion made all his lies seem so real, so believable, so true.

And with his emotions already surging in him, it was easy, so easy to pretend to love Shikamaru. He’d held back with Shu, had been afraid that if he let all the poetry and all the feelings come out, that Shu would run. Maybe that had been his mistake. But now was not the time to think of Shu, to remember Shu’s amazing body, those piercings, that tatt, that red, red hair--no, no, he had to focus on Shikamaru. Shikamaru who was pierced only in his ears, those pretty ears, above a pretty neck. He leaned over and whispered into one of those ears, easing himself down by this soft, young man, this man who used his brains, not brawn, this man who hadn’t done things that stained your soul.

And Ibiki whispered to Shikamaru as he slowly undressed him, whispered honest praise of how he was all that was good about Konoha, all that he had once wished he would be, all he had wished for his brother: smart, kind, modest, efficient, wise, a good friend, a trustworthy leader, a brilliant ninja, realistic, grounded, sweet smelling, muscled but not too muscled, soft in the right ways, hard, oh, yes, hard, in all the ways that counted. Ah! And his taste, his taste . . . He let his tongue talk for a while, exploring everywhere, everything. Nothing, nothing that was Shikamaru was unworthy of his tongue—his feet, his armpits, his asshole.

Ibiki was slow, patient, thorough. He needed to make this good, very good for Shikamaru, and he told him that, told him how he wanted to see his skin turn pink, hear his breathing quicken, see his lips swell, taste them, trace the swelling of his cock, trace it with his eyes, with his hands, with his lips, with his love. And the words, the words he hadn’t said to Shu, they seemed to just want to come out now, how Shikamaru was special, was amazing, made his heart beat, his senses feel like they hadn’t in years. Shikamaru made him believe in love, in happy ever after, in destiny, in soulmates. Ah, this body, this body whose nipples responded, whose heart beat there under his chin, his kiss, ah, this body was like his first taste of chocolate, like the bike he’d gotten for his birthday that he’d wanted with all the single-minded passion of a small boy. Ah, this body made him feel that same way: he wanted to ride it, to ride it forever, to make it uniquely his own, to fly with it, to meld, to soar up and ride the wind like a cloud in the wide blue sky.

Ibiki’s hand grasped Shikamaru’s and held it to his heart, “Feel me, Shikamaru, feel my heart pound for you. Ah, god, I want to undo your, hair, to let it down. Feel how just thinking of undoing your hair makes me tremble, like a boy about to pull down his first boyfriend’s pants for the very first time.” Ibiki was trembling, and he waited to move his hand from Shikamaru’s until he was sure that the chuunin’s own hand would stay there, feeling his heartbeat. And he lifted his hand and loosed that hair, letting it down.

Dear fucking god! That was like Kurohyou’s smile, a shock to the system! He let out a whimper and let his voice tremble, something much too easy to do, “My god, it is as exciting as that first time I saw a cock hard for me. This, this is a sight I want just for me, only for me.” He kissed Shikamaru, letting his hands play with that loose hair, rubbing his cock over the chuunin’s, letting their erections slide over and against each other, as his hands slid in and through that thick brown hair.

Kissing, stroking, and moving over Shikamaru, working his hips to make that friction between them feel so good, he could sense the chuunin getting more aroused. And then he lifted himself up, looking down, seeing a soft flush over Shikamaru’s face, neck, and chest, noting his lips were swollen, his eyes a little unfocused. “Ah, Shikamaru, Shikamaru, if you said my name, I’d come,” he swore. And he could do it, could feel his orgasm there just waiting for him to release it.

Those eyes focused and looked at him, wickedly, wantonly, and a pink tongue licked those engorged lips, and then Shikamaru breathed out, “Ibiki.”

“Shikamaru!” he cried out, letting himself release, shuddering, coming harder than he’d expected, shocking himself. This, this is just because I haven’t come for three days after coming every day for three months, he told himself. He moaned and gasped, falling down on Shikamaru, trembling wildly. And suddenly he couldn’t bear it, couldn’t stand that he would never come on Shu again, never feel that amazing body beneath him, never spill his cum on him, inside him. And a sob came up out of him and then another, and horrified, he stiffened, fighting the urge to just transport back to his room and cry. And that urge was just another awful shock, and a sound tore out of him, like that of a tortured animal.

“Ibiki, fuck me.”

The words were like a rescue rope appearing before him as the sea choked him and pulled him down. They were like the cry of a beloved pet after hours searching for him in the dark. Like a spark of hope in the very heart of hell itself--

He was hard, so hard, and he reached down and smeared his cum on his cock, and then pulled apart Shikamaru’s legs, positioning himself. This was madness, stupidity on top of stupidity, idiocy he hadn’t thought himself capable of. But he set his cockhead against that sweet hole and pushed in, taking the man he was supposed to seduce, supposed to make feel good, like some savage beast, without any preparation beyond a coating of cum.

But Shikamaru’s body spread for him, opened for him, like, well, an ass that was fucked so often that it needed no stretching. And for some reason that made him mad instead of relieving him, and he drove in harder, snarling, pulling the little slut’s legs up farther, slamming into him.

“I’ll fuck, you little slut, I’ll fuck you until you come screaming,” he said because there was no use hiding, pretending, trying to be some sweet-talking lover when he was just ugly, twisted, fucked-up Ibiki, the scarred husk of a man, the biggest fool in Konoha, the man who had to shut away all his sexual desires because he was a monster, a beast, a thing that needed to be put down.

“Ibiki,” said Shikamaru, and the word was like mockery because that voice, that breathy, amazed, aroused voice, said his name like he was something wonderful, something special, something loved.

“Ibiki!”

Ibiki threw back his head and screamed with the pain of it all. Shikamaru’s hands went up to his neck, pulling at his head. He struggled, and the chuunin’s nails dug it, dragging his face down, biting at his lip, drawling blood. And somehow they were struggling, half fucking, half fighting. Hands, there were hands on his neck, shadow hands, choking him. Hands, nails, on his back, his ass. And he roared and thrust and slammed into that writhing, twisting, squeezing body beneath him, not caring if those hands choked the life out of him, scratched him up till he was bleeding everywhere.

He couldn’t see, things were getting dark, and maybe it was tears, maybe he was being choked to death, maybe he was just going insane, it didn’t matter, nothing mattered but driving in and out of this quivering, moving, clawing, biting, kicking thing beneath him. But he was losing because his vision was like a tunnel now and all he could see was Shikamaru’s face, nothing else. He couldn’t hear anything but a loud pounding drumbeat that he knew was his heart. And time was slowing down, the beats become farther apart. And he slid into that tight quivering sheath in a long slow plunge and the face there at the end of the tunnel distorted and moved, and he could see the lips slowly shaping his name in a scream, a scream he couldn’t hear, and his cock was being squeezed, clamped down on so tight it would burst, had to burst, an impossible, impossible tightness that vibrated around him, forcing his sperm to rise up from his balls, making him explode, just shatter, yes, god, this was the end, this would kill him, his brain was shutting down, he was losing words, losing everything—

--and his life seemed to all rush by him, everything he’d ever done or felt, and it all faded away because the thing, the thing he was trying to hold back, exploded—

He awoke to a world on fire, confused. No, not fire, just sunlight. He was lying on Shikamaru’s bed, alone. He drew on his chakra, moving to his weapons, standing there with his pants and shoes on, his weapons all there at the ready, in record time.

A lazy, amused voice said, “In a hurry to leave the man you love?”

Ibiki froze, then turned around to look at Shikamaru, reclining in a soft stuffed chair, naked, his hair still down around him.

He stretched slowly, then said, making himself smile, “Not if my love wants more. Do you want something, Shikamaru? Just tell me, love, tell me everything . . .”

Shikamaru smiled, saying, “I’ll bet you say that to all the boys. Now put some effort into it, Ibiki, remember I’m the man you love.”

Ibiki smiled back. Oh, he’d put in some effort all right. Who the fuck did this Nara think he was? He’d make him beg, or he’d die trying. He didn’t care how long it took; he had nothing better to do with his free time. Nara Shikamaru wasn’t going to win. That boy had no idea of the problems he was about to have.