Izumo's Problem

VII.

Izumo wasn’t in his apartment.

He wasn’t in his best friend’s apartment.

He wasn’t at the gate, nor anywhere in between the gate and his building.

He wasn’t in the mission room.

Or at his parent’s house.

Or at ANBU headquarters.

But the way the nins on duty there acted, Kurohyou suddenly had a good idea just where Izumo might be.

He vanished with a puff of smoke from headquarters, reappearing just inside his apartment’s front door so as not to startle his neighbors.

Instinctively, like any ANBU nin suddenly surrounded by unexpected ninjas, he threw up a shield and had let fly a few kunai before he was able to grasp that his apartment was full of just about every off duty ANBU nin in Konoha at this moment—male, female, straight, bi, gay, or lesbian. Correction—add in former ANBU nins as well, for that was Hatake Kakashi sitting on his kitchen counter reading Icha Icha Tactics. Oh, and—holy fucking god, Shino and Neji! And Iruka-sensei with Tenzou’s arms around him. And his Izumo. Perfect—god, he was perfect.

And then Shu, that damn bastard, put his hand on Izumo’s neck and leaned in to whisper something to him.

Hissssss!

Shu dodged the kunai of course, and to Kurohyou’s disappointment, he didn’t fight back, but instead let him drop him to the floor, wrap that damn red ponytail of his around his neck, and smash his head into the floor a few times. Sulking, he stopped since it was beneath him to keep beating a man who wouldn’t fight, the jerk.

His lover was backing away in horror as the other ninjas pushed forward, eager to witness everything. Abandoning Shu, Kurohyou lept up to pull Izumo into his arms and away from Ritsu and Takeo, who seemed dangerously close.

“Mine,” he growled.

“Kurohyou!” said Izumo breathlessly, his lips begging for a kiss.

“My Iriomote,” he responded, his voice soft and tender. But his kiss was not—it was fierce and hard, and his tongue thrust deep into Izumo’s mouth. And all the weirdness of his apartment being full of so many people receded as something unimportant. Actually it was beyond weird since no one but himself had been in these rooms for over two years, but the mystery of why Izumo was inside his apartment with about forty other people instead of waiting outside at the door was hardly as important as relearning the taste of these lips, this tongue, this mouth.

Finally, when they both needed more air, they broke the kiss.

“Mine,” repeated Kurohyou sliding his hands over Izumo’s neck.

The chuunin moaned, “Kurohyou, my Kurohyou, all yours.” His eyes were dilated, his lips puffy, and he seemed to have forgotten that anyone else was there but the two of them.

But Kurohyou hadn’t. They all needed to know, to hear it, that this sweet beauty was his, off limits.

“Say you’re mine,” he ordered, and the room was suddenly still and silent.

“I, Kamizuki Izumo, belong to you, Kurohyou, body and,” Izumo paused and nervously licked his lips before concluding, “heart.”

Ah, god! His heart, his Izumo’s heart, his Iriomote’s heart! Kurohyou pulled Izumo back into his arms, letting his kiss, his tight hug, speak for him.

And this time when he raised his head, he suddenly knew what he had to do. He looked around wildly for a second—when he’d left this morning the only thing in the room had been an intricately carved ivory box. Ah, there it was on the simple coffee table sitting on a plain rug by a couch covered with what he recognized as one of his blankets. Why he suddenly had furniture, a rug, hell, even some pictures on his walls, was something best not worried about now.

He pulled Izumo over to the coffee table and sat down on it. A simple nod of his head at the floor was all it took for Izumo to kneel gracefully at his feet. Oh, god, he was perfect. Just perfect! Kurohyou bent over and kissed him again because he had to.

But then he lifted his head and tugged at Izumo’s neck covering. It was attached to an undershirt beneath his blue uniform shirt, part of some strange sort of turtleneck. He needed it gone, for even pushed down, it rode up too high on that sensitive, spotted neck that he needed to see now. He pulled a kunai out and asked, tugging on the fabric bunching around Izumo’s neck, “Strip or cut?”

Izumo moaned again and pulled off his vest, shirt, and then tugged the undershirt off. There were gasps, murmurs, and one whistle from Toshi. Kurohyou let the kunai in his hand fly with flare of chakra speeding it—too fast for Toshi to completely dodge, and it sliced off one lock of brown hair before embedding itself just below the flag of Fire Country now hanging on one of Kurohyou’s previously bare, white walls.

He looked down at his lover, covered with hickeys and little bruises over his neck, chest, stomach, arms and back, truly looking spotted.

“Iriomote,” he said, claiming another long kiss.

When he broke this one, Izumo was panting and trembling. He set his right thumb at his lover’s mouth. The chuunin opened his mouth and sucked it in, making Kurohyou smile. “Bite,” he instructed, but what he got was barely a nibble.

“Draw blood,” he ordered. Ah, yes! The teeth clamped down hard, breaking the skin. As he pulled his finger out of Izumo’s mouth, Kurohyou couldn’t help but pause and smear some of the bright red blood welling up out of his finger on those swollen, sexy lips.

Izumo whimpered, and glancing up and around the room at silent men and women around him, Kurohyou observed a number of nose bleeds, some open mouths, and that the little Turtle had shoved his hand in his mouth and was biting it hard. But he couldn’t keep his eyes off his lover long. Staring into the eyes of the man kneeling before him, he reached back for the ivory box, traced a blood cross over a smooth patch on the front, and heard a loud click as the blood broke the hidden seal, and the carved lid flew up. He reached inside and pulled out the pair of nipple clamps in there.

Dropping them on his legs, he pinched Izumo’s swollen red nipples, twisting and flicking them. His lover’s head fell forward, and his eyes shut while erotic little mewls and moans came from his throat.

“Look,” ordered Kurohyou, and those pretty dark eyes opened and pleaded with him. But he picked up the clamps and tugged on one nipple, rolling it, and letting his fingers pull it until it popped free from their grasp a few times. A shudder ran over Izumo, but Kurohyou just clamped the nipple with one of the elaborate engraved metal clamps with a few inches of heavy crystal dangling from it.

Izumo’s body arched, and he cried out, “Kurohyou!”

The panther nin jerked the chain attached to the clamp, and then let his hand slide down the elegant, heavy links to the other clamp. The other nipple likewise received a few more tugs and pinches before the second clamp snapped shut.

“Ahhhhh!” cried Izumo, his body shuddering and arching again. “Kurohyou, Kurohyou,” he gasped out, his voice begging as his hands flew up to the clamps.

It took but a second to pull Izumo over his lap, hands pinned at the small of his back. A hand offered Kurohyou a scarf, but grasping his lover’s wrists with one hand, he held out his arm and nodded at his glove. Shu peeled it off quietly and handed it to him. In the stunned silence of the room, Izumo’s little cries sounded loud—until Kurohyou’s hand smacked down on his ass hard.

At least four people cried out with Izumo, but Kurohyou couldn’t care at this point. A few more spanks, and he slid his lover off his lap, having him kneel once more, but this time between his open knees. His hands cupped Izumo’s face, and then he bent down until his forehead pressed against his lover’s. Their hair fell around them, blocking the others from view. Kurohyou’s hands caressed Izumo’s shoulders, upper arms, before stilling.

“Please, Iriomote,” whispered Kurohyou.

The answer was instant: a soft, sensual “Yes,” that made Kurohyou have to kiss Izumo yet again.

But then he reached into the exotic ivory box and removed a collar—an ugly, stained collar of worn brown leather with six d-rings of dull metal spaced around it. He slowly lifted the collar to that bruised neck, his hands visibly trembling. He slid it around Izumo’s neck, adjusting it before buckling it and snapping the plain stainless padlock shut. He didn’t pull the key out of the lock, however, and he looked at Izumo with a look of such deep, naked emotion, the chuunin’s skin broke out in goosebumps. His hands touched Izumo’s face, like a blind man would, feeling over it. And then one tear spilled out of one of those dark black eyes.

“I love you!” cried Izumo, desperate to change this lost, frightened, sad look on the face of his panther.

“Izumo!” he cried, a voice full of pain, his hands suddenly removing the nipple clamps and hurling them down, then undoing the padlock and collar, tossing that away too.

His body was shaking, and Izumo stood and bent over him, hugging him, saying again, “I love you.”

Kurohyou’s arms tightened around Izumo and he pressed his forehead to Izumo’s chest, saying in a quiet, shaky voice, “My slave collar. I wore it for two years. E-eleven to . . . Ugly, dirty things!”

And then that head with the sleek, black, shining hair lifted. “I’ll give you pretty new things.”

“Stupid!” said Izumo in voice full of love, putting his hands on Kurohyou’s shoulders and gently shaking him, “Just give me yourself.”

And Kurohyou smiled.

“Need to fuck you,” he said, and with a puff of smoke, they were gone.