AN: This is my christmas present to morhout as he is the hottest, most cultured, extremely wonderful fanboy a girl could ever want to meet. Merry Christmas you crazy European. Still, comments and critique are loved.
Kiba had let himself in again. Shikamaru breathed out a low sigh as he shut his door quietly behind him, shucking out of the heavy winter coat and kicking his boots on the rug just inside the door before toeing out of them and setting them to the right of the frame. He straightened and pushed his hair back, tucking the loose fringe behind his ears, taking a moment to warm the cold metal of his earrings.
"I should have changed the fucking locks." He muttered into the clean warmth of his living room and walking past where the other man was sprawled indelicately across his couch.
"Wouldn't have mattered." Kiba grinned, arching slightly to watch Shikamaru pass, licking his top lip wolfishly. "I'm a ninja."
"Right." Shikamaru shook his head slowly, reaching to pull the tight band from his hair and shaking the dark mass out around his shoulders and continued determinedly to the kitchen.
Shikamaru can almost hear the way Kiba's nose wrinkles as he takes a careful breath. He knows the way it looks flickering in candlelight, Kiba's face nuzzling against his thigh, the way the other man's eyes flicker impishly as he takes that same deep breath at the soft skin there. Shikamaru starts a teapot boiling.
"Chouji made cookies?" Kiba asks into the silence of Shikamaru watching the blue gas flames lick at the bottom of the teapot.
"He did." Shikamaru agrees, tucking his hair behind his ears again with a practiced finger.
"Didn't bring me any?" And there's that whine, that plaintive voice that Kiba only uses when he doesn't get what he wants. The voice Shikamaru always thought was one step up from speaking in barks and growls. Shikamaru thinks that Kiba has spent too long around dogs. He has all the subtlety of a puppy licking at it's owners ankles for a treat.
"Wasn't expecting you, now was I?" The hint of bitterness will go well with the black tea Shikamaru is pulling out of his pantry.
There's a rustle of fabric and the soft pad of feet, and Shikamaru is always expecting the click of nails against the hardwood to accompany Kiba's step. He doesn't look up from where the steam is starting to dribble from the end of the pot. He doesn't want to see the way Kiba fills an entire doorway with crooked noses and grins, how his shoulders always look so broad when he leans against the doorframe. He doesn't want to see the way Kiba's footprints wound his floor. He can hear the soft whistle of Kiba's breath, something he knows turns into soft snores when the other man sleeps.
"You're always expecting me." Kiba grins. It has that softer tone that slips around his smile and Shikamaru is glad his hair covers the back of his neck, or he is sure the words would press like soft kisses against his nape.
Shikamaru nods once, he can't deny that and doesn't even attempt. "Tea?"
He can feel the air moving in the kitchen and his skin prickles up. Kiba is close now. Shikamaru can feel the heat from his body, smell that rough musk of leather, dogs and fur. He shifts, moving to the left, a strategic retreat.
"Got anything stronger?" Kiba asks as his hip comes to rest against the counter near the stove, his eyes crawling in slow sweeps over Shikamaru's body.
"Don't drink." Shikamaru lies. Subterfuge and misinformation are fair in this skirmish.
"Liar."
Shikamaru sighs. "Sniff it out then." He gives a listless shrug and turns to his cabinets, busying himself with the task of acquiring a mug for himself and not watching Kiba stretch, shoulders liquid under the mesh shirt, hips so slim as his pants slip incrementally lower.
Kiba hits the bottle with the familiarity of an old lover, pulling strongly from the bottle of rice wine. He's taller and Shikamaru can see fading bruises and the faint line of paler skin along his hairline.
"Haircut?" He asks before he can stop himself, turning to look at the other man fully.
"Yea. You like it?" Kiba asks, tilting his head slightly and those awkward cow licked spikes fall over his forehead. His eyes are still pale, faintly blue around the slitted catlike pupils.
Kiba liked to fuck in the dark, liked how his eyes made Shikamaru seemed to shimmer in borrowed light while Shikamaru himself had only touch and taste to guide him around Kiba's dark wiry form. He flushes slightly and jumps when the kettle blows.
Kiba huffs a laugh. "I'll take that as a yes."
Shikamaru would glower, but that took effort, and right now he was working on not listening to the way his skin prickled, pulling like Kiba was magnetic north.
"You know I like the way you look." Shikamaru mutters as he pours the hot water, flinging tradition out the window in favor of teabags.
"At this point I think you have more of a hardon for the teapot than me." Kiba replies dryly, moving closer.
"I do like my tea."
"I'll take your hardons however they come." Kiba smirks, sliding that damn gorgeous hip across the counter towards Shikamaru and he can feel his fingers tighten on the porcelain.
"Whenever you feel like coming over." Shikamaru reminds him, blowing the words over the bitter black tea. He takes a quick step to the left, avoiding being cornered against the sink. Again.
Kiba's head rocks slightly to the side like he's been hit and Shikamaru leans back, watching carefully from under the soft black tent of his hair over the teacup. He watches the floor, and the way Kiba's bare feet are slim with long toes and high arches. He's always found them fascinating. They seemed too fragile to carry Kiba's personality. He pulls his eyes away quickly, sipping the tea hurriedly as he regroups. He counts the lines of the large tile between them, taking a strange sort of satisfaction in the way his kitchen floor looked like a Shougi board.
Shikamaru knows logic.
"When else am I supposed to come?" Kiba asks, chewing at a hangnail curiously.
Kiba was chaos in Shikamaru's ordered world. He could plan and plan, but emotions were messy things that couldn't be replaced when pulled roughly from the board. Shikamaru didn't watch the clouds much anymore- realized his strange love of chaos in their movements. He could read action, could predict twenty moves in advance, but he couldn't tell the weather... or claim to understand Kiba.
Kiba sets the bottle down, moving closer and Shikamaru knows he's lost- conceded defeat- before the other has moved two steps. He's lost to the rough feel of the calluses on the palm of the hand Kiba slides along his cheek tenderly, lifting his chin up. He's lost to that hurt look that flickers in those pale eyes before warming to something darker and hotter than apology.
"Shikamaru..." He can feel the slide of his name on Kiba's breath over his face in the way his hair tickles his cheek. He ducks unwillingly into the touch at his face, pushing needily against those strong fingers. He knows Kiba understands touch, will see the greed and loneliness behind the soft push against his palm. Kiba knows when something wants to be petted. Kiba understands more about Shikamaru's body than even Shikamaru can fathom.
"Just a little piece that's mine," Shikamaru says- it's loud and rough to his own ears, echoing through his mind.
Kiba's fingering his earring, pushing it back and forth with a soft touch. It's hard not to feel naked under the sudden wolfish gaze that's searching his face. He knows Kiba is reading the ticks in his face, the changes in his scent, listening to the sound of his heartbeat. It sounds so loud and fast in his own ears he knows the other man can hear it like a cadence. He can feel the way it shakes his skin, forcing him into a soft tremble that burns into his thighs, shakes his hands against the seam of his pants. If Shikamaru can smell his own desire, can taste it in the air, then he knows Kiba must be drowning in pheromones, drinking them in slowly. Kiba did many things quickly, brashly with laughter, but fucking was something he savored, lapped at, stroked and pushed his fingers into languidly. Kiba fucked like it was a long stretch and Shikamaru shook against the weight of memory.
"Yours?" Kiba husks and there- he's taken that small step that fits them together like cup and saucer. Kiba has always felt like settling into something larger, something that could break if Shikamaru pushed too hard. It was comfortable here, the length of Kiba's body snug against him, those large rough hands scouring his face and sliding back into his hair to knot and tug gently, guiding his head back surely.
"Just a little piece..." Shikamaru repeats. He hates that his voice shakes too. He can't see Kiba's face anymore, so close that he's nothing more than a pale blur that smells like fur and sex and nutmeg spices that he wants to taste.
Kiba nods and rolls his hips. Shikamaru has to reach and grab then, gasping around the wave of sharp dark heat that tightens his skin, pulsing into his cock like warm honey.
"Have any preference?" Kiba asks, his lips so close to Shikamaru's own that he can feel the slight chap to them and the prickle of late day stubble. Shikamaru has always loved the male parts of Kiba, would lay in bed for hours, touching his jaw, watching the short wiry hairs push into his fingerprint. He liked the way Kiba's skin wasn't smooth and perfect, marred by scars and smattered with freckles. He liked the feel of that harder skin under his fingers and could name each one across those broad shoulders. He could get lost in the sound of Kiba's breath sucked in quickly as he pushed into him. There was a cording of muscle that ran along his sides, just behind his ribs that seemed made for Shikamaru's thumbs.
Shikamaru shook his head, remembering that he was here, now, not lost in times gone past again. He wasn't fucking into his own fist desperately, bent over the sink as he stroked along his own cock, wallowing thickly in the salacious memory of Kiba's teeth closing gently on the back of his neck.
Kiba's breath is rocking against him, he can feel the tease of those lips so close, daring him to make the first move- take the advantage. His fingers tangle into the mesh of Kiba's shirt, thumbs finding the hollows along Kiba's sides easily. "Tell you later." He manages, pushing forward and catching at Kiba's mouth. Kiba somehow always forces him to make that move.
Kiba kisses. Kiba's kiss; it's something he can't ever explain properly, how just the way Kiba's mouth slants over his, kissing him surely. It's not hard or fast or passionate. It just is. Once, he told Chouji that Kiba kissed the way he would kiss himself. It makes sense as he drowns, clinging as the surging heat swells, pushing his cock roughly against the crotch of his pants. Kiba touches like he's memorizing each moment in flesh. Shikamaru forgets how uncomfortable it is to be bent almost backwards over the counter, his head against the wood of his cabinets. There are moments when Kiba's tongue slides into his mouth- darting tastes- that Shikamaru is sure the world has stopped around them, and all that exists is that soft sweet hum under his skin.
"Ohfuck." Kiba breaks, mouthing the words against his lips and Shikamaru can only agree silently, hands slipping to pull frantically at the mesh shirt. Even that small bit of knit fabric is too much. He wants nothing between his palms and that hot dark skin.
"Fuck me." He hears himself say. Shikamaru is amazed briefly at how confident and calm he sounds suddenly. He realizes it's the same sort of odd serenity that takes over in battle, that separation of logic and necessity. His cock is hard, pressing almost painfully against the clasps on his pants. He aches. "Too long, fuck me."
Kiba growls and that is all the impetus that Shikamaru needs. He's ripping at the shirt, their feet tangling as they circle around each other. He can feel Kiba's mouth at his neck, those thick strong fingers at the waist of his pants. He's pushing greedily, hips fucking forward, desperate for friction. Kiba's arms feel so strong, cording and slick around him.
Little things like that are what he forgets in his fantasy.
He forgets how easily Kiba can manhandle him face down against the kitchen table. How he doesn't feel the cold Formica against his cheek, pillowed against the tangle of black hair spilling over the fake wood grain. All he can focus on is the smear of Kiba's lips down his back, the way the other man kicks at his ankles, his hands tight around his hips, shoving at his pants.
He forgets that Kiba's palms are slick with spit and precome as he wraps his fingers around Shikamaru's cock. He remembers other things though: the way Kiba rubs the head of his dick against the crack of his ass, pushing and teasing against his opening while his fingers leave bruises against his hips. He could never forget the way Kiba pushes two fingers into his mouth, sliding along his tongue. He found that he would suck his own fingers when he fucked his own fist. The moan is almost pavlovian at this point.
Kiba slides along his back, his chest slick and hard against his shoulder blades. He can feel the rough burn of his stubble as the other man kisses along his spine. He knows this dance and shakes his hair away from his neck, whimpering when Kiba's fingers (rougher and saltier than his own) slip from his lips.
"Shikamaru..." Kiba breathes, nipping at Shikamaru’s earlobe as he traces a soft tentative circle against the puckered flesh, pushing in teasing throbs. Shikamaru squirms, his body conflicted, that same urge to pull away and yet push back. It always felt so unsure. Kiba toyed with Shikamaru's need to know all the options, pushing into him in millimeters, hearing the low whine before pulling back to stroke at his balls. Shikamaru could feel his calves go taut, his thighs trembling as he slid further onto the table, lifting his ass higher.
"Fucking... tease..." Shikamaru could manage, feeling that sheen of hot sweat gathering at the base of his spine, prickling along his hairline. He felt so hot, exposed, cock against the air as Kiba's hands were busy elsewhere. "Ki-"
Kiba never let him finish the plea. Shikamaru cried out as Kiba's finger pushed deep, splitting into him surely. Panting out short soft breaths that fogged the Formica Shikamaru watched his own palms slide, sweaty with need against the table. He could feel the way Kiba was rubbing his cock against his thigh, showing him how hard he was. A short nod from Shikamaru and Kiba was sliding that finger out only to push back, slowly fucking into him, stretching him carefully.
"Fuck, you're still tight..." Kiba growled, crooking his finger slightly and touching that spot inside Shikamaru that made him mewl. He couldn't watch clouds after counting those innumerable stars that exploded behind his eyes when Kiba touched him deep like this. He could never remember when that second finger was added, scissoring in that strange golden swell of sex and heat. Shikamaru just knew that now he could feel Kiba's palm pushing against his shoulders, holding him down against the table while he guided the head of his cock to push into him.
"Nn, ohfuck... oh...ohKiba..." Shikamaru panted, eyes tight with concentration as he forced his body to relax, to accept the blunt thick burning tightness of Kiba's cock. It always burned, stretching him so wide he was sure he'd split in two, thighs spreading further, calves strained as he pushed in greedy little squirms backwards as soon as he could; the soft sweet pain of it shooting electric up his spine. He could feel the way his cock trembled with his heartbeat.
Shikamaru could come just from the memory of that growled intake of breath Kiba made as he pushed.
Kiba held him down while he fucked him. Shikamaru could feel each push before they came in the curling of Kiba's fingers between his shoulder blades. He arched and fought the hand, desperate for more: more friction, more of Kiba's cock. "Deeper... oh fuck, please..."
He knew how Kiba looked fucking him. He could see the way his head rocked back, hair wild and dark with sweat, those thick red tattoos flushed darker. He liked the way Kiba's stomach rippled as he rolled his hips, could get lost in the sight of his cock sliding into him. He could hear each thrust in the slow slapping sound of skin on skin. Kiba always had one hand on Shikamaru's body, holding him down, pulling him up when he pushed from between pale thighs, cupping his cheek when Shikamaru was on his knees, sucking the salty slick precome from the head of his cock, rolling that taste against the roof of his mouth. Kiba had to touch, had to have that reassurance that Shikamaru was there. His other hand roved, touching his own stomach, gripping one of Shikamaru's hips, thumbing the crease of his ass, holding his cock as he slammed fluidly forwards. Kiba could never stay still, he talked with his hands, fucking was no different.
Shikamaru could never tell the exact moment his own fingers wrapped around his cock and started the almost frantic pulls. It was just necessary. Kiba's dick fucking into him and those broad palms holding him down and Shikamaru just had to touch. He squeezed tighter around the head, pulling the foreskin and smearing the continual pulses of precome down his shaft desperately. He burned- a fire under his skin and it was pushing determinedly against his nerves. Building with each peaking moan as Kiba worked himself deeper, thighs slapping as Kiba bends forward, stomach so tight and rigid against Shikamaru's back. He can feel the rougher slide of that line of wiry dark hair under Kiba's navel scouring at his spine. Shikamaru tosses his hair back in a quick buck, wetting his lips in a quick stroke of tongue, taunting Kiba for a taste.
Kiba is shaking against him and Shikamaru can hear his humanity stripping away. He can feel it disappear as both of Kiba's hands clutch at his hips, pulling him in a wet smear off the table and back onto his cock. He's not gentle now, rough and needy. Shikamaru can feel those sharp teeth close carefully on the back of his neck and the shocking spark of electric honeyed bliss that shoots from his spine to curl his toes is the last thing he can feel before his world whites out and he screams Kiba's name in broken syllables as he comes in long spurts against his knuckles.
Shikamaru only came like the world was ending when Kiba was his world.
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