Mate

A/N: This is NOT going to become a story. Not without some abundant, outstanding reviews. My delay with The Stage’s Avenger is bad enough, and I’m finally getting back in to Found You.

My core reason for writing this was because I’m sad there’s not enough NaruSasu.

Enjoy.

Disclaimer: I do not own Uchiha Sasuke. Uzumaki Naruto owns Uchiha Sasuke.
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Mate
by Peaches

Another fractured grunt climbed in to the cacophonous sea, fused with the musty, distinct smell of sex weighed down by the humidity.

Outside, ducks honked and waddled out to the lake. Inside, the mattress squeaked in protest from a pair of knees wearing its springs. Iron rang down to the wooden floor with the pulse of a fist wrapped tight on the headboard.

They never needed any form of restraints. No method to keep him in place from the brutal thrusts, because his hips had collapsed in to the sheets a long time ago.

It was still nice to have. A secure feeling of something around his wrist, around the bruises and the blotches of white linen digging in to lily wrist. It was solid, and sure, and kept him grounded, kept him from getting both hands around the body that was fused to his back with the salt of exertion, creating a sickly prickle every time the idiot snickered or deviated.

And every time, he would use his one free hand and sink his nails in to the meaty ass that tensed under his icy grip and the hot ribbons of almost-red he would drag.

The feeling was mutual.

Satisfied that there was still enough mind in his lover, he could nuzzle in to the acute slope of his aching neck. Once it was white; once he was done with it, it was a colorful declaration that reminded himself he had been there, with teeth and tongue and been so close to tearing that vivid pulse from him; the lifeblood so bright and thrummed so powerful he could see it on the backs of his eyelids.

It was all he could see, gold lashes buried in ebon fluff.

His nose buried in the scent he’d spent years searching for. Had spent years substituting with a battered, raggedy headband that had not come in to his care that way. Sometimes, sometimes he wouldn’t touch it for days at a time, so it might feel like new again. So he wouldn’t think that the pads of his fingers had worn down studying the metal.

The pads of his fingers bruising imprints in to hips he had engraved with all of the needy, frantic thrusts. All of this body belonged to him. Fit against him, around him, so wonderfully.

His narrow spine always rigid with pride now arched from the sheets and flush against his torso. Arched high enough to let him wrap an arm around the waist of delicately crafted steel wire. Opal skin was laced with the red of talons that had searched across it, seeming an attempt to get at his heart and ravage it with the rush of chakra like what saturated his Coils.

In the sheets their shadow hung over were matching, blotted prints. Dotted whips that added the vivid, intoxicating stink of crimson to the miserable air.

It didn’t matter. His nose, his face, his shortened, passionate moans were all crushed in to the hump of duct and down that still smelled like his own shampoo somehow.

Breath would not visit him. Lungs burned, and for his life he could not steal it from the swampy atmosphere. The air was so heavy it bore down on them, and more than that there was the inescapable heat wrapped around him. Rocking in to him with such frequency it had driven away the small assurance the oil of earlier provided.

For his life he didn’t care if all that was left was more of his own blood to stain these sheets so long as climax arrived. It was worth it, to feel the primal satisfaction of rugged, immense pressure dragging his insides.

One more monstrous way to lash at his being. The most important way.

The way he welcomed most. The way that melted his being, made him forget the poisons of history, drove them away with the flex of knuckles and hips and energy and the possessive, smoky growls in his ear.

He was the hearth, and he had lured something wild to his fire. Something wild that fed on his coals, fed on his anger, fed on it and bled it from him, and in the dying glow of exhausted embers always satisfied him with a never leaving company. A company that, in the absence, he had learned to grow inseparable from.

They never needed bindings. Not when their need for each other was so feral that claws would have ripped such fetters away. Pain laced straight to the socket of his stretched arm when it was twisted, when the pain twisted him to match the arm that hooked his lifeless knee.

Pulled him in close, pulled him down on the unrelenting length. Consumed him, trapped him in such a simple pinion he screamed. White fire erupted in his senses, trivial sensations like the digging grip on his wrist, the heartbeat grinding in to his through the flex of his ribcage and sending his insides aflutter.

Oh dear sweet…

Stark blue eyes sharpened on the vision splayed out beneath him. Shoulders heaved, recovering his breath in the briefest pause.

So many of his memories were only snapshots of a composed, stoic youth that never had a single hair out of place. Never a spot of dirt on his clothes. Never lost his cool.

Not unless it came to him. Here, laid out in an unfamiliar bed was an unfamiliar scene. Tangled about him a guy that haunted him. Drove him. Disheveled and disoriented, midnight hair sticking in his face, stuck on his fevered, elegant face and on his tongue parched with his gasping. Fingers near his skull were curled permanently around the ghost of the rails.

Most of all, his eyes weren’t red. There were no bulbs of tomoe that spiraled erratically around their centers, no blossom of clan heritage. There was only a pair of foggy eyes, glossy like ink and like his hair and completely lost to what he was supposed to be seeing.

His lover was completely oblivious to how gorgeous he was when no one else saw him.

The abused vein in his neck throbbed visibly, drawing the attention of elongated slits. Made long canines itch, and he brushed his own muddy, sluggish tongue along one.

His quarry was exhausted, was spent. Lips twitched when his eyes fell again, past the wide splay of chest and the contraction of ribs at every exhale that led to the swallow of his belly. His naval twisted by the position, and his member stuck to his lifted thigh, to the sheets, by the hot web of his own seed. It stung his abdomen’s shallow cuts, and still he could not notice.

That was alright. With a grin dancing across his hips the blond leaned in, sharp teeth snagging a lip made plush with the tingling overload. A tiny flick of his tongue brought moisture to the raspy breath cascading his nose, rewarded with a small mewl of consciousness.

Breath fluttered in a chuckle, dipping his tongue past the raised tier of teeth and dabbing the roof of the open mouth that welcomed him. Then snared him when he pulled away to speak. Dimly he was aware of the hand that took grip of his hair, stung his scalp and made him victim to the loose kiss that covered his lips.

Give it a moment, and the Uchiha would be swooning him in to a competition.

For right now, he was the victor. And he would bask. He would grin and he would take in the half-hearted scowl that was the other’s reaction to what he had not even said yet.

“You flew off without me.” He wasn’t disappointed. He licked the heart-shaped slope of a flushed cheek, brushed his lips against moist eyelashes. “Again.”

From beneath the mat of sunshine that burrowed in to his neck, he grunted in displeasure at being teased. “You started too fast.” How it had started was still a fantastic blur to him. “Again.”

Naruto bristled. The Uchiha could feel it against his neck, the growl of self-defense before the actual buffet of scratchy whining. “Don’t pin this on me…” He failed horribly at even pretending to be mad when thin fingers combed through sweaty hair. In hazy afterthought, he chortled. “I’m so sexy you just cum at the sight of me.”

The concept was mutual.

It was the truth.

That didn’t mean he had to admit it. “Hn.” Eyes hurt with the spectrum of life that was only visible in this brief state of mind. He closed them with an aloof sigh. His throat was still not quite in order and was nuzzled in to, rasp barely conveying his smugness. “You lose it at the thought.”

Deceptive innocence, carefully placed arrogance, kept him from conceding. Competitive right down to the second. “Of myself? Damn right.” Naruto chuckled at the feeble tug in his hair.

Silence wedged its way between the fusion of sternum and heartbeat, and they contented in that for a while. Sasuke contented in the brief reprieve of being allowed to recover, and not sacrificing the fullness that was still buried in him.

The idiot. Sometimes he didn’t care when he got off. If he got off. All that mattered was the motion, the feel of it, the feel of being swallowed by a heat that had managed to forget about him every time he went on a mission.

When it was like that, he was away for just a few days, there was no team that could keep up with him to get back home, to this second home, remind this bastard that this was where he chose to be.

Where he belonged. And every time, in any circumstance, he would like to think the other understood that completely, because his objection was always superficial.

It wasn’t like Naruto cared if the bastard needed his rest before his own mission. It was not one of his priorities to check their schedule calendar and make sure it was ‘okay’ to jump his bones.

There was always hell to pay for it later, like when breakfast was an inedible crisp waiting for him and his raven-haired prick left no note for apology.

Deep in his belly, past the prison of his consciousness he could feel the monster fox murring angrily with incomplete sensations. His eyes closed with his own quiet noise that resonated in the pillar of the Uchiha’s neck. It was so subtle, but with their closeness, with him lodged so deeply in the sensitive body there was the reactive moan behind closed lips.

Uchiha Sasuke wasn’t just his partner. His lover. Wasn’t just part of his team. Wasn’t just his idol. His competition. His rival, his friend – his brother, a title that the guy never allowed him to use. More than any of that, there was a word that fit it all too well, just like this body he had trapped in his arms and withdrew almost completely from. Shivering with the cold of distance and easing in again with a sharp inhale from the ribcage beneath him, from the lips near his ear that came to bite down on it.

Even when he bit his fingernails off, the claws always came back, and they dug in to the meaty back of pale knee he still had hold of. Even when his lust was monstrous, nearly insatiable, there was always satisfaction.

…Eventually. Eventually he would be satisfied, and he would drive on as long as it took.

A hiccup of drowsy panic, teeth clamping on tawny earlobe with his own freezing cheek on a whiskered one. “S… slower…”

It was rare when he could indebt the guy to him, so when he had the chance he took it. But only after he lanced his tongue in to an unsuspecting ear and earned a gasp when his voice was that much clearer for it. “Why should I…?” Only when he got the answer he wanted would he oblige.

For now, his lover was stuck with losing the barely-regained fragments of his mind with little keening noises and rearing his head back in some attempt of escape from the steady thrusts barely massaging what he was fully aware the idiot was purposely avoiding.

It was rare for there to be a confliction, that he couldn’t be such an idiot if he could plan just when he would drive the Uchiha heir out of his mind. It was rare, and it was gone long before he could dwell on it, floundering for an answer between ripples of stubborn, headstrong, solid thrusts. It was still too soon since his last orgasm. Lightning was still tracking through his nerves, only magnified by his determined company flicking away ash.

He was surfacing the last few embers, the last few sparks, and was going to swallow them up as well, until there was no warmth left that the Uchiha could keep for himself. Until he said exactly what the blond wanted to hear, until he was begging – screaming for warmth to be shared with him.

Until they both went spiraling over the edge in a flurry of sparks and clashes of chakra the likes of which couldn’t be matched on the battlefield.

Sasuke was more than all of that to him. More than everything, to him. When the Uchiha heir was like this, powerless, pathetic, pouting with the crumbling restraint to not moan his name, it was clearest to him.

Sasuke was his mate. The first time he had heard that word, it had rung with a familiarity that flared his insides and made him blush. Now, now he wasn’t ashamed of it.

Wasn’t ashamed of thinking it. Wasn’t ashamed of getting his ass kicked when he said it.

When they were like this, and other times, when Sasuke affirmed his existence and worth and sense of reality in the Kyuubi vessel’s possessive embrace that submitted to him without ever really submitting to him, it was great.

It was fulfilling. Satisfying, to have a fist of silken hair and gnawing at the marrow of another’s being, to close his mouth around the distraught wails that surfaced in his escalating haste. To have a pair of hands raking hopelessly at his shoulders, to leave marks that would never stay, swallowing unspoken pleas and capturing the blazing shine of life in ruby eyes to his own fire-consumed ones.