Pranksters

Phew, this chapter was a challenge. I know the last one was quite a cliff hanger so I tried to work hard to finish this one up relatively quickly. Once again, thanks so much to all of you who reviewed. :D I'm glad to know so many of you are enjoying the humor aspect of it and Sasuke's surprise visit. (hint, telling me what you enjoyed helps me keep it up ^_~ ) I hope this next chapter is up to par.

Pranksters 4


Proposition


The bedroom door clicked softly, the sound of the latch catching just audible over the blood rushing in his ears. Gaara sighed, leaning back against the unyielding door and pressed his palm flat against the grain. He tried to physically shove back the memory following him down the hall, telling himself it was none of his business; telling himself he should just go to bed while his ears strained unconsciously for any hint of events on the dining room table. He noted, with no small sense of concern, that it was not the furniture he was anxious about.

Gaara closed his eyes, head hitting the door with a pronounced thud while his mind concentrated on forcing air into his body with deep, slow breaths. His heart still raced and his cheeks still burned, but with the slow inhalation of a seasoned runner he was relieved to feel his heart rate slowing.

Two people stumbled in the hallway outside his door. His hear rate leaped back to its frenetic pace. He realized he was holding his breath when he was able to catch a few words of the mumbled whispers drifting down the hall. Gaara chortled when the words “pants too tight” were picked up loud and clear. Apparently Naruto’s bedroom voice still managed to project.

He felt foolish over worrying about the disingenuous trickster. He knew Naruto had stumbled in drunkenly just by his exclamation over a shoe, but when a glass shattered and Naruto yelled out Gaara felt a jolt of panic he hadn’t expected. For a moment he lost his cool, rushing down the hall to help him and if it not for the dark, Naruto and his guest would have witnessed his discomfiture.

But his assistance wasn’t necessary, obviously unwanted while his roommate spread himself out for not just someone deemed good enough after a few glasses of hard liquor, but Japan’s number one model—half naked and on his knees. It was the last person he expected to find in Naruto’s bed.

And none of it was his business.

Gaara waved this chant like a charm against the memory of Uchiha’s scalding glare—the mix of loathing and annoyance as he practically rubbed his cheek against Naruto’s groin; or the sound of Naruto’s startled cry, another man’s name on his lips.

Once the anxiety faded the easiest emotion to latch onto was anger. How dare he bring a stranger back home with him, and on a week night? Granted the Uchiha was no stranger, but years of absence and not a word between them failed to strike him as a commendation for special treatment.

Gaara left his post by the door, stalking over to his bed with purpose. He scooped up the scattered reports, pulling them into a loose pile and stacked them clumsily against the wine colored duvet. He ignored the sharp slice of fine paper against his finger, picking up the entire mess and clipping it together haphazardly. He tossed it into his open briefcase with a little more violence than necessary.

He was too irate to concentrate on any more work tonight. He pulled back the covers swiftly, the hushing material reminding him to stay quiet. Not that he would remember, Gaara thought angrily.

The heavy footsteps outside his door a minute ago disappeared with the click of a lock. Gaara tried not to picture the two of them or what would happen behind that door, sitting atop the groaning mattress and sliding between the cotton sheets.

He couldn’t help noting that the bed was cold, curling over on his side before switching off the lamp on his bedside table. The room blinked into darkness relieved only by the blocky red numbers of the digital clock commenting on the ungodly hour. Gaara shifted in the bed trying to find the right level of support for his neck. The sheets rustled loudly, settling over him again as he stopped. He lay still for a few minutes before shifting again. The sounds of fabric bending and sliding sounded deafening in the stillness. He rolled onto his back staring into the dark room unblinking—familiar shadows and outlines slowly came to light.

The growing warmth of the blankets swept over him, draining the anger and leaving only the tiredness that had no doubt caused it. Now was not a time to try to think things through rationally. His overreaction was a clear indication of his inability to think with the cool, collected rationality that marked most of his decisions.

In the morning he would try…

A deep male groan slipped beneath the door, effectively halting his thought process. He shut his eyes tight against it, the image of Naruto pressed against the table flashing beneath his lids. His eyes flew open, still imagining the Uchiha’s glare as he practically rubbed his face against Naruto’s surprisingly well developed abs. He mentally begged them to go away.

A more insistent groan denied his request, following him even when he threw the covers over his head. Gaara felt the stirrings of angry annoyance, launching a mental list of all the things he’d have to say in the morning, or rather, later today. But for now he decided he would not let the sounds of pleasure broadcasting from his roommate’s room bother him anymore or even consider the reasons why the thought of those two together even annoyed him in the first place.

“Oh yeah!” Naruto’s voice floated, the airy whisper ringing in Gaara’s ears. He pulled the pillow over his head and tried not to groan.


---------------------------------


“Oh yeah,” Naruto groaned appreciatively. “Right there,” he purred into his pillow. Sasuke dug his thumbs into the firm flesh between his shoulder blades, palms sliding forward towards the sculpted shoulders.

“Your back is one giant knot. What the hell did you do?” he said in bedroom tones.

Naruto gave a noncommittal shrug, relaxing again as Sasuke kneaded out the tight muscles in his neck and shoulders. He moaned at the pleasurable pain and the resulting soothing effects. He had forgotten how good Sasuke was with his hands.

“Don’t stick your face in the pillow, you need to be loud enough for your roommate to hear.” Sasuke jabbed him harshly with both thumbs, prompting Naruto to cry out. “Come on Naruto, is that the best you can do?” He jabbed him harder, satisfied with the rise in volume produced. “I doubt your roommate is asleep right now.” Sasuke shifted his position to sit atop Naruto’s legs, thighs fitting against his narrow frame. “I bet he’s lying in bed right now, all alone, imagining you getting fucked.” He threw his weight forward a little to match the momentum of his hands. The bed shifted in unison, the wooden headboard thudding softly against the wall. “We have to make him think I’m doing a good job,” he threw his weight a little harder, satisfied with the sharper impact between headboard and wall. He pinched Naruto on the next push snorting at the pained cry and the accompanying crescendo as he twisted the flesh.

“Sasuke,” Naruto cried out in warning, the tone ambiguous enough to satisfy him. He ignored his body’s request to respond, keeping his distance from the perky ass he was hovering over.

“Careful dobe,” he whispered. “Keep calling my name out like that and I may take you for real.” Naruto’s body tensed. Sasuke slinked forward, pressing his chest against the warm backside, feeling the thrum of Naruto’s pounding heart. “Judging by your reaction, I’d say you want me to.” He pulled back a few stray locks of blond hair, attaching his lips to the juncture between neck and shoulder. He bit down harshly, his weight holding down the struggling body, satisfied only when Naruto cried out long enough.

He let him go, pushing himself up with both arms and back pedaling to slide off his now angry friend. Naruto’s hand felt along the injured spot, checking his fingertips for a sign of broken skin.

“Relax,” Sasuke said. “I only bit hard enough to bruise. You’ll have a nice hickey that should fade by the weekend.” Sasuke slid into the space next to him, stretching out his legs and tucking his hands beneath his head. Naruto curled up on his side, back turned defiantly. “Don’t be a baby,” Sasuke said. “You wouldn’t have let me if I warned you.” Naruto didn’t reply. “You used to like it when I bit you,” Sasuke teased. “In fact, I bet you’re mad because you liked that one too.”

“That really hurt you bastard,” Naruto sulked. He scoot his body forward, distancing himself as much as the single bed allowed.

“You’re welcome,” Sasuke replied. He smiled at Naruto’s petulant tone, remembering how childish the usually overconfident man could be. His gaze settled on nothing in particular, ignoring the discomfort in his too tight leather pants and slowly willing it away.

“Ne, Sasuke,” Naruto’s voice broke the silence. He paused long enough to shift, turning onto his back in the creaking bed. “This isn’t going to make things awkward between us, is it?”

Sasuke sucked in a breath, the darkness somehow heavier than a moment ago. It pressed against him like the words themselves, pushing him outside his realm of comfort.

“Why would it?” he said with more confidence than was meant, the burn in his loins sufficiently doused by the sobering topic.

Naruto sighed, moving his hands to clasp them over his bare stomach. “It’s just that, neither of us have really pursued someone. Seriously that is. We’ve never been with someone exclusively since…” he paused.

“Not since we were together,” Sasuke finished. Uncomfortable memories floated to the surface.

“Yeah,” Naruto lapsed into silence. Sasuke wondered if he was remembering them too. “And I know I haven’t been completely firm in cutting off ties between us,” he continued carefully. He stopped there, letting the words sink into the space around them. Sasuke absorbed its meaning, a slight twisting in his cut churning conflicting emotions.

“You’re breaking up with me again?” he said jokingly, the bittersweet smile covered by darkness.

“You know that’s not it,” Naruto said. “I still really value you as a friend. That’s why I’m hoping this won’t change that. That’s why I won’t take advantage of you tonight. Because if there are any feelings on your side still, I know it wouldn’t be fair.”

Sasuke snorted. “It’s just sex,” he said. He thought bitterly of the judging gray eyes watching him slip out of the car with Naruto. “It wouldn’t mean anything.”

Naruto huffed angrily. “Thanks a lot, teme,” he rolled over onto his side, facing the wall. He punched the pillow a few times before settling back into his position, short angry punches demonstrating his displeasure. “Good night,” he said with finality, cutting off the conversation.

Great, Sasuke thought resentfully. You’re damned if you do, you’re damned if you don’t. Strawberry tinted eyelashes floated back to him, dark gray eyes rimmed in regret. Sasuke shut his eyes, but still they followed him. Squeezing his eyes tight, he tried to lose them in a sleep he knew would not come.

Morning

Gaara sat on the edge of his bed, bare feet cold against the wooden floor. His eyes were closed, body slouched and hands resting on the edge of the mattress. He did not want to get up. It took all his strength forcing himself to sit up this much, pure habit propelling him forward when the second alarm went off. He rose sluggishly, padding across the room like a somnambulist and let his hand fall heavily upon the alarm. He paused a moment, bleary eyed and limbs heavy, leaning against the dresser. He caught himself with a jolt when his dozing body overbalanced and nearly crashed into the dresser.

He shook his head, rubbing his eyes and forcing his heavy lids open. Grabbing the pile of garments prepared on the dresser, he carried the bundle with one arm into the bathroom.

It was when the first spray of hot water poured over his head that he began to feel a little revived. Pale eyes slowly grew accustomed to the too bright lights and slowly the pain of opening them faded. He stood under the massaging waters for a moment, allowing it to run across his body, warming him in the chill air. He reached for the bar of soap in the dispenser, the smell of yuzu, crisp and tangy, relaxing him. He rubbed the round cake between his hands, working up a good lather. Rubbing a little more life into his limbs, he began to recall the events of the previous night. He was too tired to be angry right now, sighing when he thought of the broken glass no doubt waiting for him on the dining room floor. Later, when they were both awake and sober he would address it-- later, when he wasn’t drained and feeling the groggy confusion endemic to sleep deprivation.

Gaara’s hands fell lax, the bar of soap still clasped between his palms. His head leaned against the shower wall, a small sigh swallowed in the steam. The game was over, wasn’t it? Bringing in Matsuri had been a sure fire way to discourage him, but part of him never expected the other to concede. The Uzumaki he knew wasn’t the type to give up. The Uzumaki he knew fought tooth and nail for the things he wanted; who sought solutions in even hopeless situations. Begrudgingly, Gaara realized he had been looking forward to Naruto’s challenges. The game of being pursued was a thrilling one and even if he planned not to be caught in the end, he was disappointed to have it cut so short.

Gaara put the soap back and rubbed the lather over his chest absently. The memory of Naruto’s half undress rose to mind and the moans that continued to sound from behind bedroom doors. Had he overestimated Naruto’s affections? Was it curiosity or merely passing interest? Or maybe a simple case of something better coming along. He hoped it wasn’t the latter. Gaara had his pride and even he couldn’t deny the sting of being passed up for someone else.

Regardless of the situation, Naruto’s actions last night were unacceptable. Gaara reached for the shampoo with renewed purpose. He would have a firm talking to after work about the impropriety of bringing guests over on a weeknight. Weekends were negotiable of course. But last night Gaara lied wide awake in his bed long after Naruto’s final moans died down. He had no desire to pass another restless night because his roommate couldn’t keep quiet.

He held onto this anger as he scrubbed his hair. It was difficult to maintain when all he wanted was to doze under the hot water. And he did manage to doze awhile as the water cascaded down his hair, soap and water flowing down in rivulets. He let the water wash away the soap and everything else with it. Goose pimples rose like a rash across his skin when he turned off the steaming water.

He dried himself off, feeling refreshed and more alert than he did five minutes ago, dressing and grooming according to his usual routine. He looked himself over in the mirror, eyes boring into the tired green, shadow rimmed eyes and stood up a little straighter. He brushed the heavy liquid foundation over the blood red tattoo, his eyes trained on himself, fixed in a familiar expressionless stare. Last night would not affect him. He combed his hair over the well concealed spot. He turned his head slowly to the right and then to the left. He investigated his handiwork, satisfied no one would detect that remnant of another age.

He emerged some minutes later in his neatly pressed suit, calm about the mess he was certain he would find. He was distracted before he could switch on the light, alert to the presence of another body in the room. He glanced curiously at the graceful silhouette, visible shadow and light drawing the profile of a body reposed.

Uchiha Sasuke stared out the large glass window, his face only a sliver of cheekbone and nose, his hard jaw darkened in shadow. He looked like a study in light, his pale torso a sharp contrast with the inky black leather pants from last night and his blue, black hair. He was undisturbed by Gaara’s presence, eyes unblinking in what seemed like deep concentration. For a man, his beauty was haunting. The suspicion that Naruto simply found something better lurked painfully behind his thoughts.

He hardened himself against these silly thoughts, flipping the light switch. His eyes darted across the dining room floor searching out shards of broken glass, but finding none.

“I hope you’ll forgive me for taking the liberty of making myself at home,” Uchiha’s voice addressed him from the living room. Gaara’s gaze sidled to the still unmoving form. He held his surprise in check. “I’ll make sure the glass is replaced. Most of it should be in the trash. I would have vacuumed, but I didn’t wish to wake anyone.” Inky black eyes, dark as his hair in shadow were fixated on him. His calm, tired gaze offered no apology.

“Forget the glass,” Gaara said. He would accept no favors. He slid on a pair of slippers by the entrance way before proceeding across the wooden floor. He entered the kitchen where he started up a fresh pot of coffee and turned to begin preparing breakfast. He paused, suddenly feeling slightly off. He felt the presence in the other room, hovering over him like a cloud of unease. He imagined eating his usual fare alone in the dining room with a lone guest to observe. He opted to toast a bagel instead.

Gaara stepped into the dining room to face his early morning guest. “Can I get you anything,” he asked politely.

“Coffee is fine,” he replied with disinterest, not bothering to look away from the window. He remained perched languidly across the couch, becoming a part of it like something molded.

Gaara took his eyes away from him, reentering the kitchen to pull out the small bag of bagels in the pantry. He placed it on the counter and sliced it in half, small crumbs tumbling across the counter before he placed it on the rack of the toaster oven and turned the knob. He tried to think of what else he could do to occupy himself, but all he could do was wait.

He leaned against the counter, head turned to watch the toaster oven heat up, orange bars glowing brighter while the bread sat unmoving, unchanging; and then to the drip of coffee, the drip drip sounding with each drop. He warred between two decisions while his eyes stared absently, the model’s presence ever at the back of his mind. The counter was cool against his hands, the edge jabbing into his lower back. He pushed away from it trying not to feel too self conscious as he moved toward the living room.

“I’m surprised you’re awake so early,” he went into business mode. Years as head of the family company made him proficient in the art of meaningless chit chat.

“I never slept,” he said. This was a surprise. Gaara has assumed that after last night’s events… “Jet lag,” he explained. Gaara nodded. “My body will want to sleep in a few hours.” That explained the tired eyes.

“Must be harsh traveling so much,” he said. He realized how fortunate he was that most clients came to him.

Uchiha found this statement amusing, his lips quirking slightly. “It’s the life I chose.”

Gaara had no response. He shifted uncomfortably, standing in the living room in awkward silence. He pondered sitting down, or retrieving the bagel unfinished in the toaster, or offering one to his guest. Thankfully he was spared by the coffee maker, whose perfect timing called an end to this awkward exchange.

“Coffee is done,” he said for lack of anything better to say.

Uchiha rose from his position with liquid grace, a mundane gesture somehow enticingly sexy and his well muscled body shifting with feline precision. Gaara caught himself looking, suddenly feeling less adequate, less coordinated like an adolescent still growing into his limbs.

Uchiha caught his stare, no doubt mistaking it for something else. Gaara tried to remain calm, offering a poor attempt at a smile, but refused to look away. That would just make him seem guilty. Uchiha’s gaze fixed upon his, watching him carefully, questioning. Gaara forced himself to match his stare, face settling into a well practiced mask, each memorized muscle placement intact. Uchiha seemed amused by this. He paused, caressing Gaara with two eyes dark as the center of a well, their content just as mysterious, just as indistinguishable. Gaara couldn’t tell if Uchiha was sizing him up or checking him out; whether the narrowing of his eyes entailed a sense rivalry or dismissal.

Gaara held his ground as Uchiha slinked closer. Dark eyes watching carefully, a pale hand reached out and grasped him by the chin. Gaara’s unblinking eyes rose in question, unflinching as his guest turned his head one way then the next. He kept his breathing even despite the pounding of his heart.

“I can see why he’s attracted to you,” he smirked. Gaara was released without another word. Uchiha turned, feet sliding along the floor in perfect silence.

Gaara remained rooted to the spot, eyes following the ripple of muscles along that pale back. Wait, what?

Gaara rushed over to the kitchen to where Uchiha was pouring himself a cup of coffee. He paid little attention to Gaara’s appearance, lifting the mug and savoring the first sip.

“What does that mean?” Gaara asked perturbed.

“You’re an intelligent man,” he lowered the mug. “Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed.”

The confusion last night returned ten fold. “But last night… and then,” he struggled for the words that would explain. He regretted saying anything at all. He forced himself to stop rambling, to stop bumbling like an idiot in front of his rival. Wait, rival? Gaara was getting annoyed with how easily Uchiha made him lose his cool.

“And you’re a stranger to casual sex? Someone like you?” he smiled into his cup. Gaara wondered if Naruto had told him about Matsuri. He could have kicked himself for being so clever. “I told Naruto you could have joined us,” Uchiha continued. Gaara could feel his ears burning and his neck flush. “He must be turning into a prude in his old age,” he chuckled. “I’ve never heard him stay so quiet before.”

Gaara leaned against the counter a little, failing to process the outrageous things he was hearing, wondering if this was a dream while his body still dozed under the shower. Because if he was awake, then this wasn’t a dream and Naruto was still attracted him; and the model standing in front of him like an ad for modern living did screw the brains out of his roommate last night and not for the first time either.

“But enough about Naruto,” Uchiha placed the coffee mug on the counter, the heavy glass barely clinking against the tile. The black content swished gently inside the white cup, nearly blending into the pale arm resting against the counter. Once again Gaara felt his personal space being invaded. He tried not to flinch back as the taller man leaned forward, meeting him at eye level. “The reason I’m still here is you.” Gaara’s eyes narrowed. The flirtation a minute ago was gone, the playfulness absent from his body. This was a man with an agenda— someone who meant business.

“How can I help you?” He stood up a little straighter, his composure returned on a playing field he understood.

Uchiha smirked, aware that he held Gaara’s full attention. “I have a proposition for you,” he turned and leaned against the counter. He crossed his arms as if his own project disinterested him.

“I’m listening,” Gaara prompted.

“Inuzuka Kiba wants to take his new line international.” Gaara nodded, familiar with the famous designer. His own cologne was an Inuzuka product. “He asked me personally to design the ads. All creative decisions are in my executive power.” Considering Uchiha’s reputation, this was not unfounded. This was a wise move. His success domestically in no way dwarfed his reputation in Europe and the rest of Asia.

“What do you need me for?” Gaara asked. Uchiha looked at him, obviously gauging his body language, his expression.

“You’re the CEO to the largest advertising agency in Japan. I’m not hinting that you need it, but this project will no doubt raise your profile internationally. Ask and it’s all yours. But you have to do something for me in return.”

The offer wasn’t just appealing, it was a godsend. Uchiha was very selective of the agencies he worked with. If he didn’t jump all over this, his competitors no doubt would. Subaku groups may have dominated the television slots and subway posts of Japan, but internationally, they struggled to compete.

“And what is that?” Gaara prompted. Uchiha grinned. He picked up the neglected cup of coffee, steam no longer rising from the top. He took a sip anyways, body relaxed and confident that his suit was won. He returned his gaze to Gaara calmly.

“I want you as my model.”