Idle Fantasy
folder
Naruto › Yaoi - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
1
Views:
1,159
Reviews:
2
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Naruto › Yaoi - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
1
Views:
1,159
Reviews:
2
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.
Idle Fantasy
Laying back into the comforting arms of the worn futon, he pondered sleeping some more but couldn’t get over the images from his last dream. His cock was half-hard with need and it would be so easy to take advantage of the situation at hand, so to speak.
Letting the images overtake him once more, he released the catch on his pants. He shifted and shuffled until his cock and balls were free and his hips were exposed enough that he could spread his thighs a little for better maneuverability.
Watching his cock with a lazy, half-lidded stare, he thought of that boy. Dark hair tangled from running and fighting in a battle he never wanted to participate in. Even darker eyes sullen and sulky and narrowed with an insolent sort of anger that stemmed mostly from pride and knowledge that he really was a genius in his own right. The swell had bloomed out into fully hard, aching need and he idly traced the veins of himself while dreaming.
He imagined letting his jutsu creep from himself to that boy. Pinning him angry and still in a shadowy grip that he just couldn’t escape from. Long practice afforded him a much longer tolerance for holding the bind these days.
Curling his fingers around his cock, he thought of the heat of his palm and how that would feel much much different to that boy as the curl around the boy’s cock would be made of shadows and air. A jutsu that left you cold and shaking in its hellaciously tenacious grip.
He would stroke himself hard in fast, tight, upward strokes that showed off the strength of his hands and the abilities of his finely honed jutsu as that shadowy hand would stroke the boy he held fast just the same. His other hand wandered to cup his balls and he imagined the boy being forced to copy the movement. Shuddering at the thought of those slender hands moving at his bequest, he gripped almost too tight for his nerves to take and tugged his sac lightly down on his upstroke. The effect was always surprisingly sharply pleasant.
The dream carried him off like the visions he often found watching the clouds. His hands tugging and pulling at himself, becoming sticky with a droplet of whimpering need. Those shadow hands, the boy’s hands all moving at his command to bring that boy to the same hot, shuddering end right in front of him.
Panting at the thought of wielding such control over that smirking, insolent boy, he came in thready pulses that tore from the heart of him, tensing his stomach muscles into a hard ripple that many people would have been surprised by -lazy bum that they all thought him to be-, making his hips jerk up and his feet sink into the cushion as he tried to push up for more.
His head lolled back against the familiar armrest, his eyes slid shut, and he smirked at his own adolescent tendencies. Tracing a long, finger in the viscous fluid on his stomach, Shikato pondered whether or not fantasizing about his son was egocentric. Shikamaru represented all the best -and all the worst, incidentally- traits of himself. The boy was everything he could ever have wanted a son of his own to be. Maybe it was just easier to fantasize about controlling his son -fucking him slow and hard- than it was to ponder what it was to have married the first suitable girl who offered him the suitable wife and the suitable life when it would have been so much harder for him had he decided to damn the consequences and devote himself- all that he was- to his best friend instead.
Reaching into a pocket for a scraggly handkerchief, Shikato shrugged off the thoughts as easily as he wiped off his release. Regrets were for drinking.
~*~
This was written last year for the Merry Month of Masturbation and I realized while preparing for this year's festivities that I hadn't updated here in an absolute era. This was written very much before it was stated that "Shikato" Nara was actually "Shikaku" which I don't like half so well anyway. He is thinking about his rather underaged son, but I hardly placed an age on Shikamaru himself, so you can think of him at any age you like. At any rate, I hope that you enjoyed this bit of nostalgia as much as I did.
Letting the images overtake him once more, he released the catch on his pants. He shifted and shuffled until his cock and balls were free and his hips were exposed enough that he could spread his thighs a little for better maneuverability.
Watching his cock with a lazy, half-lidded stare, he thought of that boy. Dark hair tangled from running and fighting in a battle he never wanted to participate in. Even darker eyes sullen and sulky and narrowed with an insolent sort of anger that stemmed mostly from pride and knowledge that he really was a genius in his own right. The swell had bloomed out into fully hard, aching need and he idly traced the veins of himself while dreaming.
He imagined letting his jutsu creep from himself to that boy. Pinning him angry and still in a shadowy grip that he just couldn’t escape from. Long practice afforded him a much longer tolerance for holding the bind these days.
Curling his fingers around his cock, he thought of the heat of his palm and how that would feel much much different to that boy as the curl around the boy’s cock would be made of shadows and air. A jutsu that left you cold and shaking in its hellaciously tenacious grip.
He would stroke himself hard in fast, tight, upward strokes that showed off the strength of his hands and the abilities of his finely honed jutsu as that shadowy hand would stroke the boy he held fast just the same. His other hand wandered to cup his balls and he imagined the boy being forced to copy the movement. Shuddering at the thought of those slender hands moving at his bequest, he gripped almost too tight for his nerves to take and tugged his sac lightly down on his upstroke. The effect was always surprisingly sharply pleasant.
The dream carried him off like the visions he often found watching the clouds. His hands tugging and pulling at himself, becoming sticky with a droplet of whimpering need. Those shadow hands, the boy’s hands all moving at his command to bring that boy to the same hot, shuddering end right in front of him.
Panting at the thought of wielding such control over that smirking, insolent boy, he came in thready pulses that tore from the heart of him, tensing his stomach muscles into a hard ripple that many people would have been surprised by -lazy bum that they all thought him to be-, making his hips jerk up and his feet sink into the cushion as he tried to push up for more.
His head lolled back against the familiar armrest, his eyes slid shut, and he smirked at his own adolescent tendencies. Tracing a long, finger in the viscous fluid on his stomach, Shikato pondered whether or not fantasizing about his son was egocentric. Shikamaru represented all the best -and all the worst, incidentally- traits of himself. The boy was everything he could ever have wanted a son of his own to be. Maybe it was just easier to fantasize about controlling his son -fucking him slow and hard- than it was to ponder what it was to have married the first suitable girl who offered him the suitable wife and the suitable life when it would have been so much harder for him had he decided to damn the consequences and devote himself- all that he was- to his best friend instead.
Reaching into a pocket for a scraggly handkerchief, Shikato shrugged off the thoughts as easily as he wiped off his release. Regrets were for drinking.
This was written last year for the Merry Month of Masturbation and I realized while preparing for this year's festivities that I hadn't updated here in an absolute era. This was written very much before it was stated that "Shikato" Nara was actually "Shikaku" which I don't like half so well anyway. He is thinking about his rather underaged son, but I hardly placed an age on Shikamaru himself, so you can think of him at any age you like. At any rate, I hope that you enjoyed this bit of nostalgia as much as I did.