The Spice Is Right

Snuggling and basking in his blankets, Inuzuka Kiba woke up. He grinned, baring his canines at the ceiling of his apartment, still living in that erotic illusion, that sexual fantasy. Moaning. Thrusting. Sucking. Kissing. Sweat glued his underwear to his butt, and he felt his crotch stabbing into the blankets above, pleasure shoving right back, all reminding him that he was awake now—no longer part of his steamy mindscapes, no longer wrapping his arms about his lover, no longer mid-coitus. He groaned and rolled over, cuddling into his pillow face-first, farted with a pleasurable moan (that was a loud one), then closed his eyes. Time to go back to sleep.

. . . But then a fly began buzzing him a lullaby with all the quality of a fiddler from Hell: BZZzzz BZZzzzZZZZ BbbBZZZ ZZZZ!!

Kiba frowned. World’s smallest violin playing just for him? How annoying.

And just to piss him off some more, an arctic wind swooped into his room, freezing the sweat that coated his shoulders. He groaned and rolled back over again, glancing to his right: the wind had snuck in through . . . an open window. Glaring at the curtain dancing in the moonlight, he sat up.

What the hell’s it doing open? he thought, hugging his arms as the covers slid off. Right about now, he could use his dog’s warmth, that living blanket. Unfortunately, Akamaru had slept in the living room tonight because he was sick. Didn’t want to spread it to Kiba.

As the fly’s symphony continued, percussion compliments of the rattling fibers of the curtain, Kiba slumped his shoulders. This was no longer his night. Not three seconds ago, he’d been quite comfortable. Now, he had to get up out of bed in his underwear (at least he had some on), and shut the window. He’d also have to shoo the fly out. Normally, he’d just smack it with a newspaper—a smear on the Leaf Village sports section—but that would piss off his teammate, and that would suck. Kiba didn’t want any fleas or cockroach infestations. No thanks, Shino. Keep your feelers to yourself. Passive-aggressive sonofabitch.

The curtain flapped. Back and forth. To and fro. Screeching. Scratching. Flaunting. Taunting.

Sighing, Kiba scooted his rear off the bed and stepped onto the floor.

He yanked his foot back, screaming profanities—the floor was frozen solid! Rubbing his toes, curses splashing out his mouth in puffs, he looked around. Where’d his bed shoes run off to? The warm, fluffy ones with puppy ears dangling off the sides, and the tongue hanging out the mouth, and the paws clawing at the floor (maybe they really could run off). After a few seconds of adjusting to the darkness, his eyes swept the room and locked upon the shoes . . . they were sitting right next to the open window, of course, and ice had formed a moat around them, guarding them. He grumbled, stepped out onto the floor, and scuttled over to the window, shoving it shut with both hands. Rust had collected. Paint had caked over time. It screamed like nails on chalk. But it shut, nonetheless.

Ha! he thought, cleaning an ear out. I gotcha! . . . Now to deal with this damn fly.

Slipping his shoes on—oh, warmness—he grinned and started scratching his brief-clad butt and crotch, working up some friction. He’d shrunken and contracted in certain spots. You know where. Nasty-feeling.

With that out of the way, he sought the fly, ears homing in on it: it was coming from his other window, and it was grating his brain like a slice of swiss. Scurrying to the window, he slipped his fingers through the blinds, pushed it open, and released the prisoner. The fly swam out into the night.

Oh, but it’s freezing out, he thought. It’s gonna die . . . oh well.

He slammed the window shut. Maybe it would get nice and toasty in a nearby electric grid (a.k.a. a fly zapper). He wondered if it was one of Shino’s pets/spies, then he recalled that just about every insect in the Leaf Village was a part of Shino’s legions these days; so whatever at that.

Kiba headed back to bed, anxious to return to his hot, hot dreams. Much hotter than out here. Falling into the pillows, wrapping himself up in a blanket-burrito, still wearing his doggy-shoes, he lay back and stared at his ceiling again with a satisfied smile.

. . . Then, his stomach belched up a severe gurgling. Lasted about five or six seconds. Wonderful. That came out of nowhere. Now, he was hungry. He frowned. He’d have to go fix himself something to eat at . . . what time was it?

He glanced at the wall. It should have been habitual, but he never could find the clock right off the bat. His eyes just never seemed to know where it was . . . there it was. 1:12 in the a.m. Not too bad a time to still be awake, even with a mission to Mud Land, tomorrow. Mud Land, as he called it, meant the Stone Village. His mission would involve peace relations and trades. Nothing dangerous. Why he called it Mud Land was simple enough: it was muddy. He hadn’t been there in years, but it was a distinct memory: thick strands of soil flowed from the ground, flooding the terrains with earth. He always thought that if he drank the stuff, it would taste like hot cocoa—that sounded nice right now, too.

His stomach requested food. Pronto.

Shrugging off the covers and sliding out of bed, he trudged to the door and tried opening it, jerking his hand back in pain as ice shards bit into his fingers. What, was Jack Fucking Frost just out to scourge his ass, tonight? Grabbing a dirty towel off the floor, a facsimile glove, he twisted the doorknob open. No longer tired, pissed-offery heating him up well enough, he ambled out the door and through the hallway of his apartment. Pictures hung about helter-skelter, the khaki wallpaper peppered here and there by dogfaces and bones. A piece of half-eaten pepperoni pizza lay on the floor, collecting dust . . . and ice. Despite his irate mood, he felt a smile crack across his face as he paused to examine a photo. He didn’t need to turn the light on to see it.

There was Shino, arms crossed, pretending he was the leader by standing smack dab in the middle of the photo. Those goofy goggle-like shades he always wore hid his face—not to mention that hood hanging over his head, too (trying to copy Kiba, of course); and he’d wondered why Naruto hadn’t recognized him after almost three years. Hinata stood to the right of him, hands placed behind her back, clothed in violet with her usual timid smile. Man, she always smelled good. If this picture were a scratch and sniff, Kiba would be willing to bet a few ryou she’d smell like lavenders and petunias. His nostrils happily flared, breathing in that imagined scent. And there stood Kiba to the left, squatting next to Akamaru, his hand upon the dog’s head, a simple expression across his face, neither a smile nor a frown. Naruto stood behind him, a hand on his and Shino’s backs, grinning, those ramen-stained teeth of his glowing.

Kiba smiled.

Then he felt something press against his back. Something warm. Sort of sweaty, too, but not clammy. Reminded him of this picture. And yep, it was something hand-shaped, all right. How the hell this noisy-smelly ninja managed to get in under his radar tonight, he didn’t know—but he figured it probably had something to do with that opened window in his room.

“Ain’t you a cutie? Walking around in your underwear and your little dog-shoes like that.”

Kiba felt his ass get spanked. Hard. He spun around, grinning, and thrust his face into those full lips.

“Mm! Hey!” Naruto said, slamming into the wall; the framed photos rattled.

Kiba clasped Naruto’s butt and squeezed, shoving him up against the wall again, leaping into his mouth without restraint. If Naruto’s mouth was a pool, Kiba had just done a cannonball. Naruto showed some resistance, but Kiba didn’t care. They might have been the two loudest ninjas in the Leaf Village, but they shut up during this sort of thing. Words weren’t needed. And after a few seconds of protest, Naruto relaxed—and Kiba drove into him, dry-humping him, gripping his butt with both hands, their erections clanging together. He started nibbling those lips, smiling as he sucked on that outstretched tongue, tasting the usual remnants of miso-pork mixed with chocolate cake—the Ichiraku combo meal they often dined on. Delicious. Kiba had been hungry before, but he was twice as hungry, now—and not for food.

Amidst the ravenous kisses, Naruto shot in a few words:

“I wanted to have a little fun with you, before you,”—another kiss—“went off to Mud Land.”

Kiba had already figured that out, and yeah, he’d probably go crazy there; wishing for some nice, long chats; wanting to go out to Ichiraku’s for the usual, cheap, lamp-lit dinner; and of course, longing for the sex. The wild and crazy sex.

“What do you wanna do?” he asked, massaging Naruto’s firm butt. “Cuddle for a little while? Make out? . . . Fuck?”

“All of the above.”

Devilishly grinning, Kiba latched his leg around Naruto and dove into that mouth again. He felt a poke underneath him as he clawed the boy’s scalp, hair sliding about in his fingers. As they brushed up and down against each other, he tried to set himself upon that veiled excitement, that clothed-up cock.

“Hey, I want bottom, dammit!” Naruto said, frowning. His lower lip slid out.

“Why? You’re the one with the stamina! I can go first, then you can have a turn!”

“NO! I want it, NOW!”

“What’re you gonna do if I say no?”

“I’ll fart on you!”

“WHAT?!”

. . . After some swordplay (a.k.a. a cock fight), it was decided.

“All right, all right. You can have bottom,” Kiba said—he turned around and started scrubbing the boy’s pelvis with his rear, smirking. “But only after I get some action first!”

Naruto grinned. “Fair enough.”

Happily, Kiba circled his butt about, warming-up the boy behind, that hidden shaft grinding against him, waves of excitement surging through him as callused hands settled upon his sides. They were sandpaper-rough. Ninja-training tended to do that, but damn, did they feel good. Chakra embers dripped from them as they groped his sides with abnormal warmth. Sunny warmth. Like sitting next to a fireplace, and oh! Kiba was smoking like a chimney now. He shoved his rear into the boy’s crotch, feeling that erection dig into his entrance despite the clothes denying entry.

Bed! Now!

He clasped Naruto’s hand and sprinted for his room, jerking him along and kicking off his dog-shoes as he led the way. There was a bounce in their step, a skip, for they were zealous about sex. They had it down to an art. Sloppy yet creative. Once back in his room, icewinds dissipating, Kiba hopped onto his bed, aimed his rear at Naruto, and glanced back at the boy, grinning as he reached behind and slid his briefs down. He watched Naruto, quivering with anticipation.

Naruto reached up and ripped off his jacket, unleashing sculpted abs and shoulders. With a buzz and a kick, his pants and shoes were gone, now only in his briefs. Both of them wore those—the generic kind—because you don’t wear boxers if you’re constantly moving. Besides, it was sexier to both of them: they could see the bulge. Without wasting time, Naruto yanked off his underwear, kicking them to the side. A smile strutted across his face as he stood, hands on his hips, shaft giving a salute. He walked over and tugged Kiba’s underwear the rest of the way off, tossing them aside. They landed somewhere with a shuffle.

Fully exposed.

It didn’t matter how many times Kiba did it, this feeling of being naked drove him wild, longing to be touched, explored. Bending over, he awaited the usual ass massage, and this lingering drove him crazy. Awaiting the other to do something, anything. A few maddening seconds ticked by, then he felt his cheeks getting kneaded, rubbed and fondled, spread far apart, squeezed shut, folded and unfolded.

Now he could talk.

“Aren’t you on a mission to the Cloud Village tomorrow?” he asked, pushing back, his cheeks roughly parting, stretching him.

“Yep,” Naruto said. “Just a paperwork mission, though. Same for you?”

“Yeah, no danger involved,” Kiba said, awaiting Naruto’s fingers. A pressure stepped up to his door, knocked, then took a step inside. “Ah, damn.”

“You just love me playing around with your ass, don’t you?”

“Uh-huh.”

Naruto chuckled and pushed his finger in farther, curling it around as if in search of something, and Kiba worked back against the invader, guiding it along even deeper as his cock spazzed in happiness. Looking between his legs, he saw his passion dripping. Dripping upwards, of course . . . since he was looking at it upside-down. Naruto waved at him, grinning, then Kiba felt the boy force another finger into him. He yelped, and his smile widened.

“All right, is it my turn yet?” Naruto asked.

“As soon as you eat out my ass.”

Abruptly, Naruto grabbed Kiba’s thighs and flipped him over; the world looked like it probably did when trapped inside a washing machine (or basically when Kiba used piercing fang), and he felt himself dragged to the edge of the bed, his legs dangling up in the air. Naruto guided them onto his shoulders, slick with sweat, flesh-dew glistening in the light of the room

He squatted, his hair the only thing visible between Kiba’s legs. “You better’ve wiped it, Kiba.”

“. . . Pretty sure I did,” Kiba said, smiling impishly, eyes clenched upon the boy, awaiting his action.

Breath splashed against his entrance, and he let his head fall back into his blankets, staring at the ceiling in wait. Not two seconds later, he felt a lick and shuddered, trembling. Naruto laughed, gripping Kiba, parting him a tad more, and gave another lick, tongue lapping at his puckered flesh. How many licks did it take to drive Kiba crazy? We’re about to find out.

Naruto clutched Kiba’s butt and stretched it apart. Kiba pushed back, his entrance ripping wide open, filling him with want, with lust, with desire to have something—anything—shoved inside. It was a favorite tease of his—to make one want to be fucked.

Another lick.

Only this time, Naruto’s tongue slipped all the way in, kissing and sucking. Kiba twisted and writhed upon it, devouring it with his flesh, arching his back as his ankles slid apart on Naruto’s shoulders, opening up even more, allowing easier access. In response, something slid against the delicate underside that trailed from behind his cock to his entrance. A nose? Yeah, that’s what it was. Naruto had moved up to kiss him deeper, plunging into him.

He heard a shuffling and rustling of fabric. Then he felt something else. Something cold. Obviously not a tongue.

“Hey, what the hell’s that?”

“Barbeque sauce,” Naruto said, eyes focused on Kiba’s butt. “You’ll taste a lot better this way.”

Squirt noises emitted with each squeeze of the bottle. Anyone observing from the wrong angle would have mistaken the noises for something else.

Kiba shifted about, grinning. “I don’t taste that bad—do I?”

Naruto looked back up. “You taste like an asshole.”

Kiba threw back his head and laughed, velvet-baritone waves crashing about. Naruto kept quiet, determined-like; and after a few more seconds, the squeezing flatulence stopped, and the bottle landed to the left with a thunk! Smothered in sauce, Kiba quieted down, and Naruto wasted no time: he thrust his tongue back inside, massaging Kiba’s inner walls, up, down, and all around. Kiba leaned forward, drawing Naruto in farther, and slid his fingers through that plush scalp as the boy worked, both moaning.

Naruto pulled out, and Kiba fell back into the blankets again. So abrupt. Wondering if this was the end, panting, he buckled as he felt more BBQ sauce pumping . . . directly into his rectum.

It stung, entering him in smooth successions with each audible squeeze. It was cold yet spicy-hot at the same time. It was bizarre . . . but it felt good somehow. Kiba swelled up with the stuff, his innards stained in it—but, nevertheless, it was inventive. He already loved it. Sex knew no boundaries with this boy.

With a plop!, the nozzle ejected from him, and Naruto plunged back in, flicking his tongue about, forcing it all the way inside. Slurping noises. Smacking noises. Kiba pushed back, sliding along the tongue, pistoning back and forth. They got in a decent rhythm.

“Hey, Kiba,” Naruto said, almost incoherent, what with his tongue stuck up an ass and all. “Is it my turn yet?”

“Oh yeah,” Kiba said. “You’ve earned it . . . where the hell’d you get that barbeque sauce anyway?”

Naruto reeled his tongue in. “From that place Shikamaru and his team eat at. I was saving it for tonight. Thought you’d be using it on me though.”

Feet still resting on Naruto’s shoulders, Kiba massaged Naruto’s neck with them, apologizing. He felt Naruto stroke his underside, cool textures smearing against the back of his package.

“Don’t worry,” Kiba said. “I’ll use it on you when we get back from our missions.”

“Probably ain’t enough left,” Naruto said, reaching down. “But that’s okay. I’ll just buy some more.”

“That’d be good.”

Naruto grinned and stood up, lifting the BBQ sauce bottle from the floor, Kiba’s ankles still perched upon his shoulders as he squeezed some sauce out. The bottle whistled, pouring right upon Kiba’s cock. Naruto marked him with a gooey X then forged a maroon trail onto his stomach. He spun a dribble of sauce around Kiba’s bellybutton a few times, filling it with gel, then traveled up the cuts of his abs towards his pectorals. Naruto looped the sauce around Kiba’s nipple, a brief detour, then pressed on. Veering to the right, he left a blotch on Kiba’s neck then drip-dropped up the bottom of his chin as Kiba tilted his head back, mouth open. It all came screeching to a halt, just below his lips. And like all good paths, this one was ready to be walked on.

“. . . Hey, there’s still a little left,” Naruto said, tossing the bottle to the side. It landed somewhere with a hollow thud.

Smirking, Kiba slid his calves down Naruto’s shoulders, down his arms, feeling the boy the entire ride down. He stopped at Naruto’s waist and wrapped them around the boy, hugging him—then he relaxed and let them dangle off the edge of the bed. Standing in between them, ready for action, Naruto lowered; Kiba watched.

He felt a flick of the tongue, moaning as Naruto slipped upon his crown, sliding down the shaft, climbing back up, scalp bobbing. But before Kiba could climax, Naruto audibly popped off the throbbing head. A string of saliva trailed from Naruto’s mouth, now stained in sauce and probably a little pre-takeoff fuel as well. He lowered again and nuzzled into Kiba’s stomach, lapping up the sauce, diving into his bellybutton, kissing the pool settled in his navel. Naruto spiraled his tongue about, a tornado of flesh clearing the slime, exploring every crease and crevice, dragging up Kiba’s stomach towards his pectorals. He lingered for a moment at Kiba’s nipple, nibbling it, biting it as their cocks rubbed together.

They had another sword fight right there. It was a draw.

Naruto pressed on to Kiba’s neck, chomping into him, munching him and sucking, sweeping over his throat and growling. Sonic pleasure reverberated off of Kiba’s adam’s apple, pulsing and vibrating against his throat. They’d never tried this before, and Kiba wanted to do it for a long time. A real long time. It was relaxing. Soothing. This sound massaging his neck. But Naruto moved on, sliding up to the curvature of Kiba’s chin—and straight into his mouth.

They grinned, kissing with both tongue and teeth, and strange flavors filled Kiba. So this was how he tasted?—with BBQ sauce, of course . . . wasn’t too bad—turned him on even more, if that were physically possible. Grasping Naruto’s head, he yanked him in farther, sampling every flavor he had to offer. Naruto’s butt shifted near Kiba’s shaft, trying to slide onto him already. Kiba chuckled and kept kissing, his fingers tiptoeing down Naruto’s spine—down, down, down—to Naruto’s supple-firm ass. He squeezed, and Naruto buckled in his arms. Grinning, Kiba spanked him with a thwack!

Naruto yelped and slid his palms up and down Kiba’s cheeks. “Come on!” he moaned. “Come on, come on, come on!”

“So,” Kiba said, “you ready?”

“No shit,” Naruto said, moving about in Kiba’s groping hands. “Been ready for the past thirty minutes, dammit. Hurry the hell up.”

“Well, where’s the lube?”

“Wherever you left it, you ass-mongler.”

“You’re the ass-mongler,” Kiba said, glancing over at the bedside table.

Naruto snapped his mouth shut, and his lip slid out, stained in BBQ sauce.

Kiba spotted a jelly-filled jar nearby labeled ANAL LUBE. He smirked and scooted over, Naruto on top, both rotating about in a tangled, sweaty mess of arms and legs. Stretching, he reached out and grasped the jar in one hand, massaging Naruto’s butt in the other.

“All right,” he said. “I don’t have a third arm—”

“That’s too bad.”

“—so I gotta stop for a sec.”

He let go and unscrewed the lid off the lubricant, scooped out a healthy portion, then gripped Naruto’s butt again, lathering up the entrance, Naruto moaning all the while.

“Now, how do you want it?” Kiba asked, all done.

“Doggy-style.”

“Hey, you’re taking after me,” Kiba said, almost cradling the boy in his arms. “All right then. Doggy-style, it is . . . bitch.”

“Whatever,” Naruto said with a glower. “You were my bitch just a minute ago, dumbass.”

“Nuh-uh.”

“Uh-huh.”

“NUH-UHHH!!”

“UH-HUHHH!!”

”NUH-UHH TIMES INFINITY!”

“UH-HUHH TIMES INFINITY PLUS ONE!”

“You were doing exactly what I asked!” Kiba said, squeezing Naruto’s butt. “Yep, you’re my bitch.”

“. . . Shut up and fuck me.”

“Will do,” Kiba said, smirking, “but I want you to admit it.”

Naruto’s lower lip stuck out in annoyance. He sighed. “All right, Kiba. I’m your bitch. Happy now?”

“Yep.”

And with that, Kiba took Naruto into his chest in a warm embrace and kissed him on the forehead, displaying some real affection amongst the lusty relationship they shared. This sort of act was not really a rare thing, mind you, but it was how they expressed their love for each other. In between the swearing, the fucking, the talking, the pissing, the eating, the drinking, the fighting, the farting, the shitting, the bullshitting—a simple hug and a kiss, before or after sex. It was Kiba’s mark on Naruto. This boy was his. No one else’s. And he was Naruto’s. Together, forever. Till the end of time.

“Anyway, I’m just joking about all that bitch bullshit.” Kiba grinned, restoring the mood. “We gotta get to the fucking.”

“Well, hurry up!”