ANBU, We Have a Problem

Part IV: Shikamaru’s Problem

Dammit, dammit, dammit! This was troublesome, and it was only going to get more troublesome in the next minutes, hours, fuck, month. This might be the biggest damn trouble of his life. Shikamaru stared at the Shogi board and tried to get it together. Part of his brain was playing Shogi against one of the best opponents he’d ever had, and the rest of his brain—oh, fuck, was doing a million things that could basically be summed up with “dealing with my fucking Ibiki problem.”

A part of his brain that was dealing with Ibiki was admiring his scars. Another part was speculating on why Shikamaru found scars sexy and fretting a bit since his dad had a lot of scars, and incest was really sick and twisted, and, well, Ibiki, was a lot older than him . . . Another part was reliving that sex they’d had and all the things Ibiki had said and done, trying to figure out just how much was a lie, how much might be truth, and how much Ibiki might think was a lie, but could be true even though he didn’t believe it. Because shit, Ibiki was—

Oh, fuck, no, not the hair, scalp, fingers, palm, and inner wrist all at once—focus, focus, focus—you can’t let him know all your physical weak spots so soon—ohhhhhhhhh!

Shikamaru shuddered with desire, and, for just a moment, he almost lost it—but he bit his tongue hard and struggled. He kept his hair in a tight ponytail because he found anyone playing with it, stroking it, especially thrusting his fingers into it close to his scalp and massaging his head and hair together, incredibly arousing. And being so aroused made it hard to think, made him make bad decisions, which eventually made for problems. His hair was always confined because it was easier to style, and it minimized the chance of any troublesome arousal caused by exactly what Ibiki’s right hand was doing. Those fingers—so strong and firm—combing through his hair, gripping, tugging, massaging, teasing, playing—ah, fuck!

And his hands, his inner wrists—holding and controlling shadows involved hand signs and holding his hands in position for hours. The chakra that flowed through his hands and the heavy use of his hand and wrist muscles all had made those spots on his body so sensitive. And Ibiki’s left hand held his left hand, held it up to Ibiki’s mouth, where he was alternatively nipping, licking, sucking, blowing on, and biting all over that oh-so-sensitive hand and inner wrist.

And then there was the fact that they both were naked. Shikamaru was sitting on Ibiki’s lap, feeling his hard cock against his ass, that one hand in his hair, and the other in conjunction with the torture specialist’s mouth working on Shikamaru’s hand, reducing his ability to think—well over 50%. He never been a good close-range fighter. His body wasn’t impressively strong or muscled like Ibiki’s, and Shikamaru had often wished he had that sort of body. It would have made life less troublesome, and it was sexy. God, very sexy. Maybe he found it sexy because it made him feel so safe, so cared for, to be held by a big man? Maybe being held by someone so much bigger and strong was so arousing because—ah, fuck, he couldn’t let himself think about that now.

Shifting his attention to the Shogi board, Shikamaru reached out his free hand and made his move. “Ibiki, love, your turn,” he said leaning back, wiggling. Ah, yes, there was that hitch in Ibiki’s breathing—and now, now, it was Shikamaru’s turn to play the distracter. God, yes, this was a brilliant and addictive game. The rules were simple—while each one thought about their move, the other did their best to distract them in ways sensual and sexual. The winner of the game was the one who either succeeded in getting the other to abandon the game for sex, made the other one come, or barring either, actually won the game. The winner would then get to control their next round of sex. In other words, if Shikamaru lost, he would be honor-bound to do what Ibiki wanted, which would inevitably be more than just laying there passively. Bottom line: losing would be troublesome, so winning was essential.

But Shikamaru wasn’t sure he was going to win. His ability to think out his moves and calculate Ibiki’s wasn’t the best—and then it was compounded by the need not to come and the need to constantly analyze Ibiki’s reactions and actions. He’d already discovered that calling him love, saying sweet things, complementing him, even just saying his name was a vulnerability. But he was naturally a silent type, so utilizing that information--without making Ibiki aware of his vulnerability or Shikamaru’s knowledge of it—wasn’t simple. In fact, aside from an occasional word here or there, Shikamaru would wait on attacking that way.

Another vulnerability of the torture specialist seemed to be kissing or licking or caressing his scars—but that was a two-edged sword indeed. Because Shikamaru liked those scars and liked touching them with his fingers and mouth—liked it so much it was more of a liability to him than a weapon to use against Ibiki. Ah, god, the bastard!

Never had he ever imagined a man like Ibiki would give him the time of day; actually, he hadn’t even thought that Ibiki was sexual at all. He’d honestly for years thought Ibiki asexual. But now, god, now, one of the sexiest and smartest (which made him even more attractive, dammit!) men in Konoha wanted to spend a month seducing him, wooing him, occasionally sleeping with him. And he was fucking amazing in bed, and he was a ball of emotions—and really was there anything more appealing than a strong man overwhelmed with love? He was so in love, so heart-broken, so adorable, so much pain, passion, emotion all there, simmering, held in check, shown to no one—no one but Shikamaru.

Because it was clear, oh so clear, what had gone wrong with Ibiki and Shu. He’d never let the emotion show—and now, he was acting, acting out emotions, but acting out the very emotions he so desperately wanted but was denying himself. Fuck! It wasn’t fair. How could he not want to keep Ibiki? But if he so much as let a hint of that show, Ibiki would run for it—he’d be fucking Kakashi and wooing the copy nin no doubt within twenty minutes of leaving Shikamaru.

And if Ibiki left, he’d be harder, oh, so much harder for Shikamaru to catch. It was going to be so troublesome to win that heart inside of Ibiki for himself, did he even want to? But it would be troublesome not to try catch him, too—dammit, he was irresistible with this little game he was playing. This was indeed a magnificient challenge—at stake perhaps his future. Would he end up in a relationship that would be an endless source of interest and fascination? Would he end up with a lover that made him actually want to have sex so much he was willing to work?

God, did Ibiki even realize how much effort Shikamaru was already putting in? He didn’t let people let down his hair, for one. They might be allowed to dump candle wax on him or put a fist inside him, but no one touched the ponytail. He didn’t say anyone’s name during sex; he didn’t use his shadow jutsu to touch his lovers because two hands wasn’t enough. Moreover, he didn’t struggle and move beneath the man above him, and, fuck, well, he didn’t usually have any interest in sex after coming for another five or six hours. Damn! Ibiki was probably going to talk to his fucking ANBU nins and find all that out. But maybe that would work to Shikamaru’s advantage—hell, no, he would make it work to his advantage . . .

Shikamaru sucked on Ibiki’s nipple, nuzzling his head into Ibiki’s chest, making purring noises of contentment, as he contemplated all this. With his head against Ibiki’s heart, he could read the larger man’s breathing and heart rate easily. Also he could stroke the scars on Ibiki’s chest lightly, looking up at his throat, smelling his scent. These were the early moves—the game had barely begun. In about ten moves it would be time to touch Ibiki’s cock and balls, ah, ball actually—yes, he would wait ten moves.

Why am I looking so forward to that? Men touch me; I don’t touch them, thought Shikamaru crossly. But god, that cock, that big cock, had scars on it—burns they looked like. Dear god, that was just too fucking sexy to ignore—there was no way this game was going to end before Shikamaru licked and sucked on those scars on that massive cock. And that scarring from having one ball cut off—all for Konoha—oh, god, that, that was something he wanted to kiss, to stroke, to suck—ah, fuck—focus!

“Your move, my sexy, sweet genius. Ah, god, I haven’t let myself have fun like this for over a decade. I’ve been a fucking fool and idiot for far too long, Shikamaru. I hope no matter what happens this month, you’ll still play Shogi with me afterwards—but, ah, we can wear clothes and play the boring way if you want.”

“So you don’t think you can win with all the distractions? Or you can’t wait to leave my bed?” asked Shika as he turned in Ibiki’s lap to look at the Shogi board.

Ibiki made a noise half groan, half growl, and jerked Shikamaru’s head back by his hair, kissing him with a raw, savage energy that made the shadow-user want to just melt. He moaned into the kiss, and when Ibiki lifted his mouth up, he whimpered and breathed out, “Ibiki.”

“You seductive witch! Make your fucking move, Shika-chan, cause I’m not ready to concede. You know if I win, you’re going to be riding my cock, little genius. You’re going to be sweating and moving and pumping that sweet, tight ass of yours like a guy that actually likes fucking me. Won’t that be troublesome, baby?” Ibiki was now whispering into Shikamaru’s ear, using a voice so seductive that the chuunin suspected it must use some extremely subtle genjutsu. “No answer, sweetheart? You can’t talk and play Shogi at the same time?”

“Ah, Ibiki-love, how about I move this piece here—and move my hand here?”

He couldn’t help it, dammit, not if Ibiki was going to talk like that! Shikamaru’s hand went to Ibiki’s ball and caressed it and the awful scar on his scrotum, using all the skill his hands had. He could keep this up for hours—his hand and wrist muscles would easily handle it—but could he touch for so long and not want to taste?

“Ah, you can’t keep your hands off me, can you, sweet Shika? Yeah, baby, like that, that feels goooood. You must really like me, baby, if you’re willing to work that wrist for me. Ah, don’t worry, darling, I’ll make it worth your while. Ah, sweetheart, you can rest you wrists at dinner. I’ll feed you, baby, all you’ll have to do is swallow.”

Oh, no, he was pushing his face into Shika’s hair—oh, god, biting and tugging on locks of it—

“Ahhhhhhhhhh . . . “

--oh, yeah, that was a smart response, idiot, Shikamaru told himself, and bit on his tongue again.

“Ah, baby, don’t bite your tongue, that sweet tongue,” said Ibiki. “Here, let me kiss it and make it better for you.”

It’s not my turn, thought Shika. This is good. I’ll kiss him, force him to have to return to the game, or he’ll lose right now. Yeah, exactly. And somehow as they kissed, one of Shikamaru’s hands was feeling all over Ibiki’s back, and the other had moved from his ball to his cock. The blood in his mouth, combined with Ibiki’s own taste—ah, he kissed, kissed with effort, with energy, with his tongue and lips moving and sucking and responding—and it felt as easy as breathing, as easy as if he kissed like this all the time.

It was a shock when Ibiki jerked his mouth away finally, his hand going into Shikamaru’s hair, pushing his head into his neck, saying, “Ah, sweet Shika, let me make my move now, sweetheart; then I can kiss you some more.”

No! I want more! Ah! God! The words rose up in his mind, surprising him. Shikamaru moaned and began to lick at the scars on Ibiki’s neck, letting his hand fall away from Ibiki’s cock. No, a hand between them was too much—it was better to rub his own cock against Ibiki’s, yes, to rub their erections together as he let his hands and tongue trace those scars all over this big, built body, to let Ibiki’s taste and smell flood his senses, to let—

“Your move, little one, unless you’d rather we moved to the bed, of course. You seem ready to ride my cock right now, sweet little Shika.”

Shika rolled his head back, glanced at the board, and decided, fuck, he didn’t care if he won or lost the Shogi, but he wouldn’t, couldn’t, let Ibiki seduce him so fast. No, not if he wanted to win his heart. He reached back and made his move.

“Hmmm, you think that’s what I’ll order you to do, Ibiki-love, just lay there and let me take my pleasure on you, using your cock like I do a dildo, moving how I want, the speed I want? Hmmm, it’s a little vanilla, but still . . .” Shikamaru turned back to stare up into the torture expert’s eyes, and then, the vision just appeared in his mind. Ibiki, Ibiki like he’d been after he’d come that first time: trembling and weak with emotion, tears forming in his eyes. But he wasn’t above Shikamaru, but below him, his legs open, his ass tilted up, waiting for Shikamaru’s cock. That very cock leapt violently, and Shika felt prejack push out of his cockhead and ooze over that hypersensitive tip. “I think when I win, I’ll spread your legs and push inside you—“

Shikamaru would have continued, but what was happening in front of his eyes froze the words on his tongue. There was no crude gasp or curse, not even a change in breathing. The greatest loss of control was the way the masking of his chakra levels had slipped for the briefest of seconds indicating a power that was indeed that of an advanced jounin. But there in front of him, the teasing, seductive Ibiki was gone, and the naked man whose lap he was saddling was the icy, emotionless head of ANBU’s Torture and Interrogation. Yes, this was the Morino Ibiki he had always known, the Ibiki he’d thought was all there was to Ibiki.

Ah, it was understandable, and he could almost pity the man, knowing his torture, the thing that had covered this man with scars (even on the cock that was still hard against his), had involved rape, no doubt rape of the most horrific and painful and degrading kind. But he couldn’t pity Ibiki—he was too magnificent to pity, and when Shikamaru stole a look down at that cock almost two inches bigger than his, he smiled to see that not only was it still fully engorged, it was now glistening a little like his. God, what a man! He feared being fucked, like any rape victim might, but still it excited him. Oh, god, would there be anything more amazing, more arousing, that this man trusting you to take him?

Shikamaru’s cock did a little jump against Ibiki’s, and he said in the lightest of voices, “If it excites you this much, Ibiki-love, maybe you should just give up now. I’ll be gentle with you.”

Ibiki’s mouth fell open a little at that, and a look that was some sort of mix of surprise, disbelief, wonder, fear, and desire flickered over that icy face.

I love him, I fucking love him, realized Shikamaru. At this moment, he thought with amazement, he is the most precious person in the world to me.

Part of him knew that this feeling probably wouldn’t last, but part of him knew it might and might only grow stronger and stronger every day of his life. But all of him agreed that there was nothing more important right now than putting his hand on that scarred chest and pushing Ibiki down on to his back.

He rose up over him, for the larger nin fell back without a bit of protest or resistance. Shikamaru’s hands spread his own asscheeks, and he sunk down on Ibiki in one long slow motion. He didn’t need stretching—his ass had stretched around a cock, vibrator, or dildo almost every day of the last four years. And with Ibiki’s arousal and fact he’d been fucked and filled with cum earlier today, well, that was the biological reason his ass slid down around Ibiki’s cock without stretching or lube. But it was the emotions in his heart that made this, this simple act he did so often, so different, so perfect, so effortless, so natural.

He moved over Ibiki slowly, sacredly, for this, this was something he’d never expected, never wanted, really. Love was troublesome. Love—god, he not really understood love at all. This, this was why his father had put up with his mother’s nagging and obnoxiousness all these years. Yes, he understood now.

“Damn you!”

Owww! The pieces of the shogi board digging into his back didn’t hurt as much as the curse, or how Ibiki’s sudden reversal of their positions seemed a violent rejection of Shikamaru’s emotions. Yes, for Ibiki, this was about Shu, not Shikamaru, about fucking, not making love. And god, he was fucking Shikamaru now!

That cold, icy calm face was above him, and that big cock was slamming into him, hitting his prostate again and again in a steady beat. Ibiki shifted again, and Shikamaru’s weight was shifted from his back to his shoulders as Ibiki lifted his legs up over his shoulders, raising the chuunin’s ass up higher. His thrusts came down harder at this angle, and for all his silence and calm, he radiated a powerful intensity, a fierce determination. He was in control, and they both knew it. He was going to fuck Shikamaru, and nothing would stop him—certainly not Shikamaru, for Ibiki used what he learned of Shikamaru’s body ruthlessly. His hands moved to all the places that aroused him, till Shikamaru was on the edge of coming, his cock bright red and fully wet.

He wanted to last longer, to hold out. He struggled, but each slam inside him—oh, god, this was the man he loved giving it to him with all his strength. Every bit of his skin was tingling, his cock was dripping, he ass was contracting already. Ibiki planted one hand down on the floor on Shikamaru’s hair, and the other jerked the shadow nin’s sensitive wrist to his unsmiling mouth and bit down—and Shikamaru screamed, “Ibiki,” and began to come.

But the hand had dropped his wrist and choked off his orgasm—making him scream again, and then as the fucking continued, he began to beg. “Please, please, it hurts, Ibiki!” Ibiki’s response was to use his chakra to hold himself up without his hands, so that one hand stayed tight on Shika’s cock and the other jerked his head up by his hair. And fucking him still with that same power, he kissed him with a fierceness that took his breath away, then let him fall back to floor. His head and shoulders hit the carpet hard, but the pain in his cock, the need to come was worse.
“Ibiki, Ibiki, please, please!”

“Are you begging me, Shikamaru?”

“Yes! I’m begging you! Please, Ibiki!”

And then with a smile that seemed to sear Shikamaru’s soul, he let go.

The human throat can make many sounds that are classified as screams, and of all those many, many sounds, Shikamaru’s throat had made few. Of all the many sounds that can be called screams, only a few are so loud, so painful, that they seem inhuman. Ibiki had heard them all. But even he felt a frisson at the one that Shikamaru made as he climaxed beneath him.

So that was heaven.

Wow.

Fuck.

Neighbors were troublesome. And why the fuck where there five, no eight, ANBU nins outside his apartment? Noisy fucking bastards!

Ibiki was still fucking him.

Hard.

The ANBU leader raised one hand and a little bit of swirling blue and green chakra appeared. Weird. Blue chakra was normal while green was healing chakra. What was this for?

Holy shit!!

Ibiki had lowered the flickers of chakra down and sent them dancing over his balls and cock. It hurt in a weird, good way, and when the swirls of color were gone, his balls felt full while his cock was flushed and firm, full of blood again. Desire and love together overtook his exhausted satisfaction, and Shikamaru began to pant and quiver. Oh, god, how long? How long till he would come?

It was too much! He already felt his balls tightening! Dear god, how long could Ibiki do this? “Ibiki! Ibiki, please!”

“I’m not finished with you yet, lazy boy!”

“Ibiki! Yes!”

He knew he must sound slutty to all those listening ears, but he couldn’t care—the feeling and sensations ripping through him were too intense.

“You like that? You like me fucking your ass? You want more?”

No! Dammit, he wouldn’t cave like this—this, this must be how Ibiki had fucked Shu, with this cold look on his face, these crude words, this powerful domination that was mastering Shikmaru. Where was that vulnerability he’d shown this afternoon? Those corny lines like bad poems said with such emotion that Shikamaru couldn’t help being moved? Where was HIS Ibiki?

“Yes, I want more! You better have more, old man! If this wasn’t good enough to make Shu fall in love with you, why would it make me do so?”

Ah! There was emotion! And Shikamaru shivered, thankful for the fact that the voyeurs outside would at least be able to tell his parents how he died—but no, no, Ibiki wasn’t that weak, not his Ibiki!

He lifted Shikamaru up, rising to his feet with shadow user still impaled on his cock, and walked them over to the bed.

Oh, god, that smile, that smile!

Ibiki lifted the chuunin off his cock and lay him down on his back. He walked away, going to the refrigerator, returning with cold drinks. When Shika had finished drinking, he set the cans aside, and lay down beside him. He kissed him, softly, gently, making Shikamaru brace himself. An angry, controlled, and gentle Ibiki was a truly, truly frightening thing.

He rolled Shikamaru on his side and lubed his cock, then slid back into him. Then, both on their sides, he began moving inside the younger man lazily. His hands took Shikamaru’s sensitive wrists—and one held them together above his head in a grip that pulsed. The shadow nin’s body shuddered with pleasure, and Shikamaru pushed his ass back and moaned out, “Oh, god, Ibiki, please.”

“I don’t need to do a damn thing, Shikamaru, to make you fall in love with me,” whispered that voice that had seduced hundreds of men to tell Ibiki everything. “Because you already love me, my sweet Shika-chan.”

He knew.

Of course.

He was Ibiki.

“I knew the second you made that move that meant you would lose the Shogi game,” said that voice, shocking Shikamaru. “You’re surprised? Didn’t you even know? Think about the game, sweetheart. Do you need me to tell me the position of the pieces?”

No, he didn’t. And then with the clarity that comes with hindsight, he could see his move, see the moves that would follow, see it all—the hypothetical games played out in his mind, and the most he could have made was another six moves. Fuck! Was this worth it? He could stop it; he could rip this emotion out of his heart if he started right now. Shikamaru bit his lip and rolled his head down towards the bed, grateful his hair was loose and could hide a little of his face.

“Ah, not yet, baby, not yet. Don’t hate me yet,” came Ibiki’s voice, no longer smooth and even. “You won the game, sweetheart, so you can have me as you want me. On my back or my belly, baby?”

Oh. That was what people meant when they said love had pierced them to the heart, that love shot them right in the heart. Yes, it did sort of feel like an arrow or a kunai, that sharp jolt of pain. How could he not love this man? He turned Shikamaru’s brain to mush because he couldn’t understand him at all.

“Why?”

He stared up at those eyes, and they looked back at him more honestly than ever before. “No one has ever made love to me. No one in love with me has taken me with love, given me their love. And even now, it may be too late—“

“No, no, it’s not, love,” said Shikamaru, for that look of sorrow, solitude, and loneliness—no, no, he couldn’t bear that on his love’s face. And ah, ah, sweet mother of all the gods and goddesses, that pure happiness of Ibiki’s face is blessing I thank you for.

“Ah, my Ibiki, my magnificent Ibiki, my love,” said Shikamaru, pulling that bald head down to his own.

“W-will you say it, Shikamaru?”

Ah, god, god, he was trembling, tearing up, and now, stuttering? Oh, god, could he be more loveable?

“Oh, yes, Ibiki, I’ll say it.” His heart was going to explode. “I love you, Morino Ibiki.”

Tears. Ibiki’s tears.

And then, like he’d been doing it for years when he almost never had, Shikamaru drew on his chakra to vanish into smoke, reappearing facing Ibiki with the white swirls still floating in the air, rolling him over on his back, gently pushing apart his legs to kneel between them. He wasn’t ready to put even so much as put a fingertip into Ibiki, but he knew the very act of spreading his legs would stop those tears. And now, now, he had to kiss that burn scar on Ibiki’s cock, to kiss and lick and love each and every scar on his body. Because this might never happen again even though it felt eternal now.

He’d start with this cock, not Ibiki’s face like he wanted to, because Ibiki’s tears were something this big man was probably not really ready to share yet. If anything might scare away Morino Ibiki who was scared of almost nothing, it might be that—that Shikamaru could make him cry. And even if he’d “won” tonight’s game, this was merely the first move in the bigger game.

But there would be time tomorrow to plan how to deal with his problems.

Tonight there was only time for love.

One kiss, one lick, one touch at a time.