Shadows Can Lick Too

Kiba was lying on his stomach, feeling a little antsy, one hand dangling over the edge of his bed, apparently a delicious morsel of some sort for Akamaru, for the rough sandpaper tongue of his dog was slurping his fingers from under the bed, tickling up his palms real good—but Kiba wasn’t feeling real good. He’d momentarily focused a little chakra to his ears, and he could already hear some light snores coming all the way from the living room. That bastard hadn’t come to bed with him like a good lover should. No, instead, he’d fallen asleep in a bag of barbeque chips, judging from the smell wafting in here, and he was probably wrapped up in a nice warm blanket in his armchair, too, obviously too lazy and sleepy to get up off his chuunin butt and have some midnight fun with Kiba.

But Kiba’s libido wasn’t the only thing keeping him awake right now; no, rain was hammering against the window—how the hell could anyone sleep through this?—and although he’d flicked off all the lights in the room, every few minutes a purple flare lit everything back up, blinding him, soon followed thereafter by an explosion of thunder.

He groaned, lifting his hand, and rolled over onto his back to stare at the ceiling. He did this a lot, and after nights and nights of staring at this same particular ceiling, he’d come to the conclusion that it didn’t get rid of insomnia in the slightest; so being pretty fickle, he rolled right back onto his belly and let his hand drop over the side of the bed, hanging it there for Akamaru to start licking it again. Maybe the massaging motions of that thick tongue would ease him to sleep, help him relax.

But it wasn’t working; he’d roll over onto his back, frown at the ceiling, roll back onto his stomach, rolling, rolling, rolling. If he could just lie there still.

“Dammit,” he said, pushing himself up and swinging his legs over the side of the bed. Akamaru licked his toes.

“That tickles, Akamaru. Stop it. I’m trying to get some sleep here.”

His dog whined.

“I’m not mad at you, I just wanna sleep.”

Akamaru sounded disgruntled.

“It’s like,” he glanced at the clock, “one in the morning, Akamaru. I’m not gonna play fetch with you right now.”

No reply.

. . . Great, I pissed him off, Kiba thought. Now he’s gonna hold a grudge against me for like a month.

Kiba was about to offer up some steak from the fridge as an apology when he felt something cold slide into the back of his pants. It slithered down them, and the most bizarre sensation of wispy fingers started tickling the nether-regions of his crack.

“Gah!” he said, leaping to his feet, spinning around. “What the hell was that?”

He could see nothing amongst the shadows slashing and pooling throughout his room. He blinked, straining his eyes to focus as he started scratching his slightly-violated butt; felt a little chilly down there.

“Shikamaru?” he asked the darkness—then shook his head when he noticed the snoring still droning on in the living room. He glanced down at his dog. “Hey, what was that, Akamaru?”

The dog replied in a less playful manner.

“I can’t smell anyone either.” Kiba sniffed the air a little harder. “Just Shikamaru and his chips . . . and those damn cigarettes of his.”

Akamaru asked a question.

“Well, yeah, they stink . . . but in a good way, I guess.”

The dog coughed.

“Yeah, that’s why I don’t smoke ’em.”

Akamaru slyly pointed something out.

“Well, if he doesn’t start fucking me more often, that’ll be the second best reason to leave him, yeah. Don’t wanna get lung cancer without even smoking the damn things.”

Akamaru grinned, pulling himself out from under the bed. His tail thumped on the ground, doggy sign language.

“. . . All right, all right, Akamaru. I’ll throw you the ball a few times, but you gotta be careful not to wake up Shikamaru.”

Akamaru cocked his head.

“Yeah, he probably deserves to be woken up in the rudest possible manner anyway.” Kiba pointed at the door, leading the way. “Let’s get some food first, though.”

Akamaru bounded ahead of him, paws tapping along the floor.

Kiba hadn’t forgotten the mystery groper, of course. He merely figured he should keep the atmosphere casual and light, just in case the bastard decided to show up again—and he also figured it was Shikamaru, somehow up to his clever antics; but this time Kiba’d catch him off-guard.

He headed into his kitchen.

“Now what do you want, Akamaru?” he asked as he opened the fridge up, digging through its contents. “Hamburger meat? Jerky? Chicken leg? Steak?”

Akamaru barked.

“Good taste.”

Kiba pulled out a slab of steak and threw it in a paper plate. He set that in the microwave, tapped his foot till it was done, then dropped the meat in a nearby dog bowl. “Eat up,” he said. “I’ll go find your ball now.”

Akamaru was already chomping away at the steaming steak.

And now it was time to locate the chew toy. Not too hard. Just focus a little chakra on the nose and home in on anything that smelled excessively like dog breath—though almost everything had a certain canine quality to it in an Inuzuka household; might be a little trickier than it sounded.

Kiba headed into the living room, following his nose. This was where they’d last played fetch together; it’d probably be in here. Shikamaru was leaning back in his armchair, grinning oddly, a crinkled bag of barbeque chips sitting on the table to his right along with a dead cigarette stub. He’d scattered a bunch of crumbs all over the wooden surface in his daily snacking routine that Kiba’d have to clean up later. He hated seeing messes like that in his house. A lot of people thought he was the unclean type, considering that a kind of hound aroma followed him around like a tail follows a dog, but he was cleaner than most people suspected. Not a neat-freak, really, but above-average. His living room was only mildly cluttered with old newspapers, a few empty glasses here and there on the coffee tables, and a soft collection of dust in the harder-to-reach nooks and crannies that he just didn’t feel like reaching for; oh, and he couldn’t forget the smoldering piles of ash Shikamaru left lying around either. That was a rather new addition to all the clutter. Other than that, though, his place was bare and tidy—all the better for playing fetch in.

He took a drag on the air, heading over to his brown couch. The pleasant stench of Akamaru’s maw was clouding up in particular from behind this piece of furniture. That was probably where it was, the chew toy. He’d have to scoot the couch out without disturbing Shikamaru. The guy always got real pissed when you woke him up; then he wouldn’t shut up about troublesome this and troublesome that, rather than just shut his troublesome trap and go back to sleep—so Kiba lifted one side of the couch. Carefully. It had wooden legs of course. Sitting on a wooden floor. Great for grating, and screeching, and squeaking, and honking, and all that anti-sleep stuff. Gently, he pivoted it to the left until he had just enough space to get the ball; then he eased it back to the floor. Success, and without a sound, too. He’d move the couch back later. No sense in risking anything now that he was in the clear—and he could see the yellow ball down there, covered in rubber spikes like a fat urchin. It was still dark, but the ball was bright. He bent over to grab it.

And something spanked him, freezing him in his hunched over position—almost literally, because whatever had struck his ass was below zero.

He whirled around, tackling the mystery groper—and ended up on the hard floor on his hands and knees, not a thing below him.

“Wha—?” he said, eyes shuffling from side to side.

Shadows, everywhere.

He looked over at Shikamaru. The guy was still tucked underneath his blanket, its tanned fibers swallowing him whole, his pineapple head sprouting out the top, graced with a devilish smirk.

“. . . I don’t know what you’re doing or how you’re doing it,” Kiba said, “but please keep doing it to me. This is the sexiest thing you’ve ever done.”

Shikamaru didn’t stir or make a sound in response. Just that pleased smile across his face.

Kiba grabbed the ball, got up on his feet, and rubbed his ass. “So cold, though . . . like a popsicle.”

He strolled back into the kitchen to find Akamaru, but his dog was no longer there. Sometimes a simple warm meal was all it took to get Akamaru sleepy. That’s why Kiba’d taken the time to heat it up. The dog would be back in the bedroom, curled up underneath the bed by now. Maybe not quite asleep, but a little less feisty.

Kiba looked back over at Shikamaru, who was still sleeping in the living room, and devised a plan.

He set the no-longer-needed ball down, then summoned a heavy weight to his bladder, the urge to piss. Back in the day when he’d been teaching dynamic marking to his dog, he’d also developed a talent to conjure up his urine at will—though truth be told, most males could already do that without the need to train it; however, Kiba could now brew up a lot more piss than your average male. He had to if he wanted to be sure he’d even mark his opponent. So basically he needed to go real bad now.

He scuttled over to his bathroom, flicked on a light, grimaced as fluorescents and bright white tiles flooded his eyes, then whipped out his manliness. With a happy sigh, he released a hot stream into the toilet, holding himself lovingly with his right hand, scratching his butt with the other, legs spread wide apart. He started circling his hips around as he did his business, trying not to make too much tinkle racket, closing his eyes with a smirk. He’d purposefully left the door wide open. This time, he’d catch the bastard. Shikamaru couldn’t hide in all these squeaky-clean tiles. Maybe it was a clone? Those could develop minds of their own if you left them unchecked long enough. Kiba’d figured that one out years ago in autosexual experimentation. Yeah, that’s probably what it was. Perhaps Naruto’d taught Shikamaru shadow clone jutsu, too. Those types were even better for autosex. The lazy bastard had probably just forgotten to cancel the jutsu and was now happily regaining his lost chakra through sleep at the same time, consequently lending the naughty clone a never-ending supply of stamina. Smiling at his well-thought-out deductions, Kiba kept on pissing, eyes still closed, anxious for action.

But nothing was happening. No surprise ass grabs. No surprise butt sex. And the tinkling sounds were slurring up an octave as his piss-load drained to a halt, drip-dropping a few more times into the commode. He shook his thing and tucked it away, a little disappointed as he turned to leave.

A crack of thunder gave his heart a good jolt.

For a second there, he’d thought it was the mystery groper—but it was just the stupid storm cranking back up again, warming up its pipes a little, here to keep him awake all night long, now complete with blue balls no less. Despite his slight irritation, he chuckled at the thought of those cold fingers massaging his balls till they really were blue as he flushed the toilet and left his bathroom.

He walked back into his bedroom and dove onto his bed, bouncing up and down a few times; then he rolled over to the side again. As usual, he checked his dog’s presence by offering his hand below, letting it swing from side to side. After a few seconds, he felt a lick.

He was about to start complaining to his dog about Shikamaru’s laziness and general numbness to sex when he yanked his hand back.

He stared at it, shivering. Whatever had just licked him—had a tongue made out of ice.

“. . . Shikamaru?” he said, suddenly somewhat worried to look under his bed. “Akamaru?”

He heard some squeaks coming from the hallway and glanced over at his door.

Akamaru was sitting on his haunches with the yellow ball in his mouth.

“Who’s down there?” Kiba whispered, pointing.

Akamaru ducked his head down, dropping the ball to the floor with a squeaky thud, looking underneath the bed. The dog looked back up and shrugged.

“What do you mean you don’t know? Is it some clone Shikamaru forgot to release or not?”

Akamaru shook his head, woofed.

“Just a bunch of shadows?” Kiba shook his head, fed up with all this ambiguity. “Fuck it, I’m looking.”

He hopped down to the floor, crouched down on his hands and knees, and deliberately shoved his head under the bed, straight into the darkness.

A black cloud tackled him to the floor, pinning him down, fogging up the area like chimney soot, freezing Kiba to the touch.

“Hey!” Kiba hollered, rolling around in its grip. “The hell’s this?!”

Akamaru started barking.

And Kiba was already up on his hands and knees again, scurrying across the floor on all fours, but he suddenly felt arctic threads swirling around his calves, curling around his arms and tightening as they glued him to the ground. Doggy-style.

“Get this thing off me, Akamaru!”

The dog bit at the velvety black wisping about his master’s body—and Kiba yelped.

“Don’t bite me! Bite him!”

Akamaru looked unsure of himself, bolted out of the room.

“Hey, don’t leave me here!”

But Akamaru wasn’t listening, and Kiba felt cool liquid flesh pouring down his pants now, drenching his loins and ass in a jelly grip as more subzero fingers ripped off his undershirt, throwing it to the side in tatters. Two seconds later, he felt his nipples getting massaged and thumbed, his waist getting held firmly in place as his pants and briefs were torn from his legs, leaving him naked on the floor, still down on his hands and knees.

“What the hell’s going on here?!” he asked as he felt something smooth and glacial slide up his crack, rubbing against his puckered entrance, digging into his flesh. “Shikamaru! Wake the fuck up!”

It shoved into him, filling his rectum in an instant, those shadowy hands forcing his legs to spread wide apart so he could accept it even farther. He shuddered, watching his breath puff out his mouth as it penetrated him deeply, burrowing into his fiery depths, stretching him painfully.

“Damn,” he whispered, trembling now, unable to restrain a mischievous grin from sliding across his face. “Shikamaru . . . who the fuck is fucking me?”

Something cold, fluidic and slippery, swallowed his cock whole.

“Ahh,” he moaned as it sucked on his erection, pumping him up and down, in and out, licking his crown. “Damn, this . . . this feels good.”

He looked down at the wooden floor as his pelvis pistoned back and forth, his ass sliding along the cold jelly shaft behind. He wanted to thrust back with his own will, yet he was being forced to by these hands instead—these shadow-hands—all while a mouth of darkness drank his erection, swirling its shady tongue all over his shaft.

No control. He had no control—and he was fucking loving it.

That’s when he noticed a thick shadow connected to him below, pooling just under his knees and palms. It was coming from the doorway, a river of black ink flowing along the floor. In about two seconds he had it all figured out. Somehow, he was caught in one of Shikamaru’s jutsu, despite the guy being asleep.

He heard a scoff, footsteps.

“For once, sex isn’t a drag.”

Shikamaru came strolling in, hands in a seal, Akamaru at his side.

“Ahh,” Kiba panted, now harder than ever as Shikamaru smirked down at him, watching him getting fucked relentlessly in the ass. “Do what you—ahh, shit—usually do, man,” Kiba said. “Explain to me what the fuck’s going on here. Don’t tell me you’ve been awake all this time—gah!—fuck!”

Shikamaru shook his head. “You’re such a pain sometimes. Can’t I just enjoy myself?”

“Explain!”

Shikamaru sighed. “All right, all right, then. Sheesh . . . I was just messing around with my shadow jutsu, and I must’ve accidentally fallen asleep like this.” He lifted his hands, still in a seal. “Guess it’s got a mind of its own.”

“You kept your—ahh—hands like that even after Akamaru woke you up?”

Shikamaru shrugged. “Guess I was just a little curious to see what it was doing to you, heh.”

Kiba was shoving back into the shadow-cock now, rocking back and forth in rhythm. “So basically,” he shuddered, “you can fuck me in your sleep?”

Shikamaru nodded. “All night long.”

“All night long?”

“It’s a lot less bothersome this way, don’t you think?”

Kiba grinned, those shade-fingers holding his dick as he trembled for more reasons than one. “It’s a little cold . . . but it’s fucking hot at the same time . . . I really—oh, fuck! right there!—love it.”

“Glad you like it,” Shikamaru said. “Now keep it down for the rest of the night, Kiba. I’m going back to sleep. Care to join me, Akamaru?”

The dog barked and followed him out the door.

And before Kiba could moan out any sort of protest, the shadows completely enveloped him in darkness, robbing him of sight as they continued to lick his throbbing cock, kissing and massaging every crevice of his body, thrusting in and out of his ass—all night long.