The Cost of Fair Play
folder
Naruto › Yaoi - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
1
Views:
1,287
Reviews:
12
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Naruto › Yaoi - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
1
Views:
1,287
Reviews:
12
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own Naruto, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
The Cost of Fair Play
Title: The Cost of Fair Play
Author: Pesha
Rating: NC-17
Fandom: Naruto
Type: Yaoi
Pairing: NaruSasu
Disclaimer: I make no claims to anything except this bad piece of fan writing.
Time: 37 minutes
Summary: Written for the : Temps_mort "Cliche" challeng sho short ficlet looking at the cliche "Alls fair in love and war."
Running fingers through his tousled hair, I pull him roughly up my body to claim his mouth in a passionate, possessive kiss.
Generations have stood behind the old adage “all is fair in love and war.” Why shouldn’t I? He knew what he was getting when he accepted my...offer. After five years of begging for love -Sakura's love-, he was willing to take what he could get...what I offer him is not more than he deserves. Innocence is for the weak. This is not about love
My tongue slips between his lips to taste the hot, slick, wanting I know is waiting inside his mouth. I love being inside his mouth. Whether it’s my tongue, my fingers, or even my cock, he never protests, never whimpers, never denies me anything. That talented, talkative mouth just sucking, licking, soft –sometimes sharp- biting that makes my insides crawl with this overwhelming *wanting* for more. That mouth can do anything -everything- perfectly.
Except talking. I hate to hear him talk. Nonsensical babbling. It drives me insane. It’s only the sex I want. I don’t love him. I can’t. I’m too old to love a boy. I can’t rebuild my clan without a wife. No. I don’t love Naruto. I just want his sex. This is about the sex. This is not about love.
He tries to move back down again; his mouth shifting away from mine, I can feel the purpose behind his manouevering.
I don’t want tenderness, dobe. I want it the same as ever, as always. Hard, furiously animalistic. Strip me of my humanity. Make me feel.
I grab his hair once more. Harder this time to make my point. I feel him sigh raggedly against my lips and know that he is thinking again. My legs clasp him to me tighter. With his pants unfastened as they are, his hard arousal rubs into my own. I know that the feel of my erection never fails to drive him wild.
He wants so much to believe that it is a sign. A sign that he is loved by this Uchiha child. I let him believe it. I encourage it. I have never told him I love him aloud. I would never lie that way. This is not about love. It's about sex...and power.
He wants to touch me. I can tell. He keeps trying to subtly shift in my grasp so that he can reach my cock or maybe to prepare my body in some small way for the inevitable conclusion to this encounter. I’m smart enough to prevent such niceties though. I clench my left hand in his scruffy blond hair so tightly it would scalp him if he dared move away and let my right position him where I want him most. All the while, I keep distracting him with wet, drugging kisses that will doubtlessly leave his talented mouth sore and my own a mess of raw skin and bruises.
As the swollen, purpled head breaches my entrance, I fight my body as best I can to ease him inside. The fact that a copious amount of clear fluid had formed there already helped a bit. Still, I can’t help but hiss mindlessly at him to push in faster before the pain begins to spread. I had forgotten my vicious grip on his hair, but his growl of annoyance conveys to me that *he* has not forgotten…or forgiven it would seem.
Why do I make him hurt me? He’s more prone to tantrums than torture. I know that. I don’t really like the pain either. I just like the…later. The later that comes when he is gone and I am alone…but I still feel him. I feel him inside me for days after he goes…on missions, to visit others who are not me, wherever. I feel him inside me and I know that, no matter how much he loves *her*, he’s still fucking *me*. That delicious thought fills me with enough power that I feel invincible. I envision myself winning this imaginary battle with her. This is *not* about love.
He pushes into me until I feel the sharp prickle of wiry hair against the pale, tender skin of my ass. I know I’ve torn again. I feel the blood trickling out, pooling hotly beneath me. I can’t see anything but white through the haze of pain that never fails to assault me when he first shoves himself inside. For every time that we’ve done this, I never seem to be able to adjust to that first *push*. I blame it on his sheer girth, but, of course, I am not silly enough to deny the truth: no preparation will yield pain.
His thrusts start out rough and deep but progress to shallow jabs as blood coats him, my muscles slacken, and he becomes less willing to give up the warm clench of my body. He has long since found the hidden gland that always makes my hands release whatever grip they have on his body –hair this time- to instead clench tightly in the coverlet of my cot. The rhythm falls out of his movements and the frenzy that has overtaken him threatens to let him bore through me. The harsh rutting causes his thick shaft to brush past that precious, evil gland over and over again until I am coming in thick strands, then spurts, and finally a thin trickle as it is rubbed sore and tender and I think I’m panting -*begging*- him to stop and he finally finds his own release in a hot wave that scalds that tender nub inside and stings the open tears as it floods to the outside.
I’m going to feel this for days. I hope he leaves soon. I don’t want him to look at me now. Not like this.
He moves off me and I can’t help my body’s jerk as he pulls free. I’m so spent that I can’t even find the strength to put my legs together even though I want to. He sees my stretched, twitching hole and I wonder what he thinks when he looks at it, but he begins to speak before I get a chance to really start to ponder it.
“Sasuke?”
“Hn,” I manage weakly.
“Are you all right?” he whispers huskily, hands in tight, shaking fists on his thighs. I love the fact that I made him such an animal that he forgot his pants were still around his knees.
“Hn,” I answer, hoping he will take it as an affirmative and leave like usual. He shocks me with bright, wetly shining eyes. Blue eyes that never fail to make me wish for a peaceful life. I am paralyzed in his stare.
“I love you, Uchiha Sasuke,” he states boldly, angrily.
He grabs my arm and drags me against him. That wonderful, talented mouth devouring my own, he demands a response from my lax, apathetic form.
Panting, he demands an answer, “I *love* you, Sasuke Uchiha.”
Numbly, I let my head fall to his shoulder and offer back, “At least now I know you know my name when you come, dobe.”
His laughter lets me know that he is letting me get away with this another time, but I can hear a weariness in it that was never there before.
All may be fair in love and war, but, now, I can't help but wonder the cost of fair-play: loss, pain, regret, lies, denial. The death of my clan. Perhaps it can be about love. Some day.
Author: Pesha
Rating: NC-17
Fandom: Naruto
Type: Yaoi
Pairing: NaruSasu
Disclaimer: I make no claims to anything except this bad piece of fan writing.
Time: 37 minutes
Summary: Written for the : Temps_mort "Cliche" challeng sho short ficlet looking at the cliche "Alls fair in love and war."
Running fingers through his tousled hair, I pull him roughly up my body to claim his mouth in a passionate, possessive kiss.
Generations have stood behind the old adage “all is fair in love and war.” Why shouldn’t I? He knew what he was getting when he accepted my...offer. After five years of begging for love -Sakura's love-, he was willing to take what he could get...what I offer him is not more than he deserves. Innocence is for the weak. This is not about love
My tongue slips between his lips to taste the hot, slick, wanting I know is waiting inside his mouth. I love being inside his mouth. Whether it’s my tongue, my fingers, or even my cock, he never protests, never whimpers, never denies me anything. That talented, talkative mouth just sucking, licking, soft –sometimes sharp- biting that makes my insides crawl with this overwhelming *wanting* for more. That mouth can do anything -everything- perfectly.
Except talking. I hate to hear him talk. Nonsensical babbling. It drives me insane. It’s only the sex I want. I don’t love him. I can’t. I’m too old to love a boy. I can’t rebuild my clan without a wife. No. I don’t love Naruto. I just want his sex. This is about the sex. This is not about love.
He tries to move back down again; his mouth shifting away from mine, I can feel the purpose behind his manouevering.
I don’t want tenderness, dobe. I want it the same as ever, as always. Hard, furiously animalistic. Strip me of my humanity. Make me feel.
I grab his hair once more. Harder this time to make my point. I feel him sigh raggedly against my lips and know that he is thinking again. My legs clasp him to me tighter. With his pants unfastened as they are, his hard arousal rubs into my own. I know that the feel of my erection never fails to drive him wild.
He wants so much to believe that it is a sign. A sign that he is loved by this Uchiha child. I let him believe it. I encourage it. I have never told him I love him aloud. I would never lie that way. This is not about love. It's about sex...and power.
He wants to touch me. I can tell. He keeps trying to subtly shift in my grasp so that he can reach my cock or maybe to prepare my body in some small way for the inevitable conclusion to this encounter. I’m smart enough to prevent such niceties though. I clench my left hand in his scruffy blond hair so tightly it would scalp him if he dared move away and let my right position him where I want him most. All the while, I keep distracting him with wet, drugging kisses that will doubtlessly leave his talented mouth sore and my own a mess of raw skin and bruises.
As the swollen, purpled head breaches my entrance, I fight my body as best I can to ease him inside. The fact that a copious amount of clear fluid had formed there already helped a bit. Still, I can’t help but hiss mindlessly at him to push in faster before the pain begins to spread. I had forgotten my vicious grip on his hair, but his growl of annoyance conveys to me that *he* has not forgotten…or forgiven it would seem.
Why do I make him hurt me? He’s more prone to tantrums than torture. I know that. I don’t really like the pain either. I just like the…later. The later that comes when he is gone and I am alone…but I still feel him. I feel him inside me for days after he goes…on missions, to visit others who are not me, wherever. I feel him inside me and I know that, no matter how much he loves *her*, he’s still fucking *me*. That delicious thought fills me with enough power that I feel invincible. I envision myself winning this imaginary battle with her. This is *not* about love.
He pushes into me until I feel the sharp prickle of wiry hair against the pale, tender skin of my ass. I know I’ve torn again. I feel the blood trickling out, pooling hotly beneath me. I can’t see anything but white through the haze of pain that never fails to assault me when he first shoves himself inside. For every time that we’ve done this, I never seem to be able to adjust to that first *push*. I blame it on his sheer girth, but, of course, I am not silly enough to deny the truth: no preparation will yield pain.
His thrusts start out rough and deep but progress to shallow jabs as blood coats him, my muscles slacken, and he becomes less willing to give up the warm clench of my body. He has long since found the hidden gland that always makes my hands release whatever grip they have on his body –hair this time- to instead clench tightly in the coverlet of my cot. The rhythm falls out of his movements and the frenzy that has overtaken him threatens to let him bore through me. The harsh rutting causes his thick shaft to brush past that precious, evil gland over and over again until I am coming in thick strands, then spurts, and finally a thin trickle as it is rubbed sore and tender and I think I’m panting -*begging*- him to stop and he finally finds his own release in a hot wave that scalds that tender nub inside and stings the open tears as it floods to the outside.
I’m going to feel this for days. I hope he leaves soon. I don’t want him to look at me now. Not like this.
He moves off me and I can’t help my body’s jerk as he pulls free. I’m so spent that I can’t even find the strength to put my legs together even though I want to. He sees my stretched, twitching hole and I wonder what he thinks when he looks at it, but he begins to speak before I get a chance to really start to ponder it.
“Sasuke?”
“Hn,” I manage weakly.
“Are you all right?” he whispers huskily, hands in tight, shaking fists on his thighs. I love the fact that I made him such an animal that he forgot his pants were still around his knees.
“Hn,” I answer, hoping he will take it as an affirmative and leave like usual. He shocks me with bright, wetly shining eyes. Blue eyes that never fail to make me wish for a peaceful life. I am paralyzed in his stare.
“I love you, Uchiha Sasuke,” he states boldly, angrily.
He grabs my arm and drags me against him. That wonderful, talented mouth devouring my own, he demands a response from my lax, apathetic form.
Panting, he demands an answer, “I *love* you, Sasuke Uchiha.”
Numbly, I let my head fall to his shoulder and offer back, “At least now I know you know my name when you come, dobe.”
His laughter lets me know that he is letting me get away with this another time, but I can hear a weariness in it that was never there before.
All may be fair in love and war, but, now, I can't help but wonder the cost of fair-play: loss, pain, regret, lies, denial. The death of my clan. Perhaps it can be about love. Some day.