Pull/Push
folder
Naruto › Het - Male/Female
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
1
Views:
1,380
Reviews:
3
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Naruto › Het - Male/Female
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
1
Views:
1,380
Reviews:
3
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.
Pull/Push
A/N: Kink meme request. Requester wanted "DeiIno. Exhibitionism, strap-on, performance masturbation, dirt and sweat, prison scenario, restraint, hate sex, sex standing up, 69, claiming ownership of the other, coming on the other, biting, and/or bath sex." I... got some of them? Otherwise that would be one busy fic. Oh well.
----
"A man will be imprisoned in a room with a door that's unlocked and opens inwards; as long as it does not occur to him to pull rather than push."
----
Ino is the worst guard ever.
She thinks of her father, complaining about her flirting with 'highly inappropriate people', and can't help but wonder about his reaction if he ever found out about this. The thought makes her snigger, and despite her attempt to hide it in her hand-
"That wasn't the reaction I was going for. I must be doing it wrong, un."
"C'mon," she says, and shuffles closer to the bars. "Don't get shy on me."
"It'll take more than that," says Deidara, stretching up against the bars. The shadows they cast stripe his torso, the grime from his imprisonment smudges across his skin as he rubs up against them. Ino wants to touch him, follow the stripes down across his stomach, wants to lick him clean.
"Come on," she says, again. "You're making a girl feel unloved. Do it."
He looks up at her from under the tangle of his hair- so much hair!- and she has to fight to keep from biting her lip. "Well, if you insist, un..."
He wraps his fingers around his cock and runs his hand along its length, and the only thing keeping all her blood from rushing to her face is that it's gone somewhere else.
He wraps one arm around a bar, rests his head against the metal, on the ground with his knees sticking out through the bars, keeps moving his hand as he looks at her. His hips jerk, and in the darkness of the cell she can see a tongue, licking, teasing. His breath is low and quiet, but she can hear its pace picking up with every twitch of the hips. Her lips are suddenly dry, and she has to keep herself from running the tongue across them.
"I've got an artist's imagination and all," he says, and his palm stills as a tongue laps at the head of his cock. "But maybe you should stop crossing your legs like that and give me something to look at, un."
"Fuck you," she snaps. She hadn't noticed she'd been clenching her thighs. He laughs, and her sudden flash of anger makes her feel strangely giddy.
She slides down off the bench to sit in front of him, close enough to feel the heat of his body, and almost defiantly slides her hand up her thigh, up under her skirt. He laughs again, softly, and she is struck with the urge to grab him and hurt him. Her fingers run along herself as his hand keeps moving; when his mouths move and he makes small breathy noises she inhales sharply, moves her fingers faster.
She doesn't notice when she leans her head against the bars, just presses her fingers tighter against herself when his breath brushes her face. His feet curl in the dirt; something strong rattles down her spine as she watches his hand on his cock, thick and beautiful. She drinks in his gasps, his tiny noises, until he sets his mouth and tries to stay silent. She presses her face against the bars, then, and when he comes close she bites him hard on the cheek. His involuntary noise makes her tremble, and he smiles despite himself and goes back to making the small, pleading noises that make her head spin.
It's not long until the both of them are moving fast; him pressed up against the bars as if needing the touch, her leaning back to watch, to drink in the slight of his long, hard body. She drags his other hand away from the bars, then, and he has time for one startled look before she presses it, palm up, against her thigh. He pants, hair sweatstuck to his face, then slides his hand up and grabs her. She wants to be indignant about the roughness of it, but then there's his tongue, velvet and wet, sliding into her, palm hard against her, and she struggles to keep herself from breaking down against the bars.
Then he's pushing harder against her, his hips rubbed red against the bars, and the mouth on his palm is open, tongue wet across his cock with each slide, lips moving silently, and he presses his face against the bars and comes, shuddering, panting hard, onto her hip. He rests, trembling, against the bars, hand shaking between her thighs, and she stifles a cry, fingers moving with the tongue, across it, wanting to touch him, straddle him, fuck him--
It's like a match being struck down her spine; she comes, with a strangled, wounded noise, legs twisting, hips bucking. It holds her for a moment, paralysed, then she slumps against the bar, muscleless. She feels the warmth of him, and laughs as much as her shaky lungs will allow. He snorts, pulls back his hand, tracing its sticky way down her thighs as it goes.
"Konoha jails, huh. Should've been captured sooner."
"Shut up," she says, and brings her hip up to the bars for him to lick clean.
----
"A man will be imprisoned in a room with a door that's unlocked and opens inwards; as long as it does not occur to him to pull rather than push."
----
Ino is the worst guard ever.
She thinks of her father, complaining about her flirting with 'highly inappropriate people', and can't help but wonder about his reaction if he ever found out about this. The thought makes her snigger, and despite her attempt to hide it in her hand-
"That wasn't the reaction I was going for. I must be doing it wrong, un."
"C'mon," she says, and shuffles closer to the bars. "Don't get shy on me."
"It'll take more than that," says Deidara, stretching up against the bars. The shadows they cast stripe his torso, the grime from his imprisonment smudges across his skin as he rubs up against them. Ino wants to touch him, follow the stripes down across his stomach, wants to lick him clean.
"Come on," she says, again. "You're making a girl feel unloved. Do it."
He looks up at her from under the tangle of his hair- so much hair!- and she has to fight to keep from biting her lip. "Well, if you insist, un..."
He wraps his fingers around his cock and runs his hand along its length, and the only thing keeping all her blood from rushing to her face is that it's gone somewhere else.
He wraps one arm around a bar, rests his head against the metal, on the ground with his knees sticking out through the bars, keeps moving his hand as he looks at her. His hips jerk, and in the darkness of the cell she can see a tongue, licking, teasing. His breath is low and quiet, but she can hear its pace picking up with every twitch of the hips. Her lips are suddenly dry, and she has to keep herself from running the tongue across them.
"I've got an artist's imagination and all," he says, and his palm stills as a tongue laps at the head of his cock. "But maybe you should stop crossing your legs like that and give me something to look at, un."
"Fuck you," she snaps. She hadn't noticed she'd been clenching her thighs. He laughs, and her sudden flash of anger makes her feel strangely giddy.
She slides down off the bench to sit in front of him, close enough to feel the heat of his body, and almost defiantly slides her hand up her thigh, up under her skirt. He laughs again, softly, and she is struck with the urge to grab him and hurt him. Her fingers run along herself as his hand keeps moving; when his mouths move and he makes small breathy noises she inhales sharply, moves her fingers faster.
She doesn't notice when she leans her head against the bars, just presses her fingers tighter against herself when his breath brushes her face. His feet curl in the dirt; something strong rattles down her spine as she watches his hand on his cock, thick and beautiful. She drinks in his gasps, his tiny noises, until he sets his mouth and tries to stay silent. She presses her face against the bars, then, and when he comes close she bites him hard on the cheek. His involuntary noise makes her tremble, and he smiles despite himself and goes back to making the small, pleading noises that make her head spin.
It's not long until the both of them are moving fast; him pressed up against the bars as if needing the touch, her leaning back to watch, to drink in the slight of his long, hard body. She drags his other hand away from the bars, then, and he has time for one startled look before she presses it, palm up, against her thigh. He pants, hair sweatstuck to his face, then slides his hand up and grabs her. She wants to be indignant about the roughness of it, but then there's his tongue, velvet and wet, sliding into her, palm hard against her, and she struggles to keep herself from breaking down against the bars.
Then he's pushing harder against her, his hips rubbed red against the bars, and the mouth on his palm is open, tongue wet across his cock with each slide, lips moving silently, and he presses his face against the bars and comes, shuddering, panting hard, onto her hip. He rests, trembling, against the bars, hand shaking between her thighs, and she stifles a cry, fingers moving with the tongue, across it, wanting to touch him, straddle him, fuck him--
It's like a match being struck down her spine; she comes, with a strangled, wounded noise, legs twisting, hips bucking. It holds her for a moment, paralysed, then she slumps against the bar, muscleless. She feels the warmth of him, and laughs as much as her shaky lungs will allow. He snorts, pulls back his hand, tracing its sticky way down her thighs as it goes.
"Konoha jails, huh. Should've been captured sooner."
"Shut up," she says, and brings her hip up to the bars for him to lick clean.