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Rhythm & Bruise: Gaara's Story	By : Darkprism Category: Naruto > Yaoi - Male/Male Views: 1708 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Naruto - neither characters nor story lines - and I make no money from these writings.

Chapter List
- 10
- 11
- 12
Please see my LJ for story notes and audio files of this chapter! Thanks, all.

***

Gaara sat in his booth in Bliss on a chair that made his tailbone ache and stared down at his glass of cranberry juice – straight, no ice – and wondered if he could make it stronger through sheer will power. Or if he could possibly just walk over to the bar, drain half a bottle of vodka, and then use the juice as a chaser.

The drink swirled in the glass with a slight tilt of Gaara’s hand, and it was like the liquid mocked him with its lazy slosh.

Tonight was the Annual Poker Tournament at Club Break. Hordes of kinky well-to-dos had poured through the cathedral doors of Bliss earlier in the night and then descended the stone stairs down into the bowels of the building for hours of betting and heavy breathing.

The DJ, however, was absent from his usual position in the BDSM club, preferring instead to spin from Bliss and run his Bot down in Break. In point of fact, he’d almost not come here tonight at all, but Neji was infernally polite in his persistence.

“What do you mean you can’t spin at the clubs for a while?” the Hyuuga’d asked when Gaara called several days ago. An hour before Gaara’d dialed Neji’s private cell number, Jody’d thrown Kiba out on his ass in the parking lot of Akasuna Auto. The time for avoidance, it seemed then, was upon Gaara.

“What part of that confuses you?” Gaara asked. Not rude – just direct and slightly puzzled. Neji rarely asked for clarification.

“The part where you’re not going to spin at the Poker Tournament. It’s part of the terms of your contract, Gaara, to spin at events.” Neji’s voice remained even and professional as he carefully stated rules and agreements long-negotiated. “Are you injured? Sick?”

“No and no,” Gaara replied.

“Then what is it? The event is Saturday. This is Tuesday. Such short notice leaves me with few options, and Gaara, I think we’re friendly enough that I can say I’m not happy about that.”

Gaara sighed. Responsibilities could go fuck themselves up the virgin ass without lube.

“I will spin on Saturday in Bliss,” Gaara said, trying not to clench his teeth. “I’ll run the Bot in Break. Will that do?”

Neji was quiet for a moment. “I see,” he replied, as if he understood something Gaara hadn’t voiced. “That will do, yes. Your sets are good even without the hands-on touch. I hope your…situation improves.”

“Saturday then.” Gaara had hung up without further commentary. He didn’t find it necessary to tell Neji that he was avoiding one troublesome Inuzuka. Let the Hyuga make his own assumptions and conclusions. He would do that, anyway.

Gaara gnawed on the side of his thumb, which was turning raw from overuse, he noted absently. The past few days since the shop incident had been…difficult. Because despite Gaara’s efforts to simply put everything out of his mind – Kiba, his parting words, the smell of strawberries, the bloodstains on the carpet – Gaara found that he couldn’t do it. For the first time in years of being sober, Gaara wanted oblivion. Number crunching and music and college courses were not doing the job of turning off the wheels in his brain. There was too much painful introspection and conscious denial going on, and even Gaara knew he was hiding from things.

Denial indicated fear. And the fear irked him. Quite a bit.

What it was, exactly, that he was afraid of continued to elude Gaara. And he thought that was somehow tied into the denial, but in the end it left him an irritated mess in no shape to deal with humanity.

Thankfully, Jody came through for Gaara on that note. For after the phone call to Neji last Tuesday, it’d been time to contend with Jody.

At first the big blond seemed content without details. After the Inuzuka drove away with a roar of engine, he’d turned to address the shop.

“That man bothered Boss,” Jody announced in a cold, dangerous voice that he rarely had occasion to use anymore. “I don’t much like that sort of behavior.” He hoisted the wrench onto one shoulder and put his other hand in a fist on his hip. “Anybody got a problem with that?” He drawled.

“Hell no,” Sora said immediately. The other staff shook their heads in fast confirmation of Sora’s words.

Jody grunted. “Then get back to it, ya’ll. Ain’t got much use for gawkers or laziness, none.”

Gaara listened to all that in a semi-numb state and said nothing; he turned and went back to his office to make his phone calls and collect himself. He washed off Kiba’s blood from his skin in the bathroom sink, and tried not to think about anything. Gaara’d been straightening the room when Jody walked into the office and shut the door quietly behind him.

“Boss.”

“Jody.” Gaara held a stack of paperwork in his hands. There were two drops of blood on the back of the top sheet.

“He hurt you?”

Gaara shook his head once.

“He gonna?”

Gaara’s eyes went down to one side as he considered. He tried very hard not to shiver at the memory of Kiba’s voice promising and offering pain. But that wasn’t what Jody meant, so he shook his head again.

Jody bit his lip. “He’s the one, ain’t he? The guy from last Sunday who had you all upset.”

“Yes,” Gaara admitted. He blushed slightly but paid it no mind. Jody would sooner die than point out such things to Gaara when he was like this.

Jody made a soft noise of understanding. “All right then.” The two men were quiet for a long moment. “You want ‘im to come back?” Jody asked softly.

“No.” The word was cold, emphatic, and full of quiet fury. The fury was so much easier to manage than anything else at the moment.

Jody nodded, considering. “You tell me the rules, and I play by ‘em, boss. He steps foot on property again without you tellin’ me he can, and he’s dead.” Jody said this calmly and quietly. And with absolute seriousness.

“I don’t like that he upsets you,” Jody continued, half to himself. “He drives a cocky-ass car, and that means he’s a cocky bastard. That kind ‘a shit pisses me off.”

Gaara sighed. The thought of beating Kiba’s brains out with his paperweight was still appealing. However, the thought of Jody doing the same thing was not.

“No one gets to kill him but me,” Gaara said, quiet but firm. “Short of that, do what you will.” He paused. “It’s…confusing.” Gaara couldn’t explain any further. He sighed and threw the paperwork into the trash. He didn’t give a shit what it was; just wanted it gone.

“I got your back, boss.” Jody came closer and put one hand on Gaara’s narrow shoulder. “Take some time and work it all out. I know ya will. And in the meanwhile, I play gatekeeper and keep ‘em busy and outta your hair.”

Gaara knew Jody meant the employees, the customers, his siblings, and everyone in between. Jody would be Gaara’s stone wall, his shield, and, if necessary, his machine gun.

“Thank you.”

Looking back on the exchange now, Gaara didn’t know how much Jody understood, but he was certain it was more than Gaara actually did. In fact, as the days passed and he barricaded himself in his house and the shop’s office, he got that awful feeling that the entire world was in on secrets and subplots and it left Gaara out in the wintry cold of incomprehension. That sort of feeling used to happen all the time before the meds were there to round off the edges of the frustration.

Although fat lot of good they were doing on that point now. Gaara scowled bitterly and thought once again how the meds were just another form of chain. The kind of chain that didn’t come with a promised – or at least sought after – orgasm or a fucking nice high before a crash and burn.

In fact, the damned meds not only did an amazing job at limiting emotions, (ironic that, Gaara thought, since he was supposed to be gaining an emotional IQ), they also did a spectacular job of limiting Gaara’s life to a series of “Can Dos” and “Cannot Dos.” He could not get high – although, he imposed that rule on himself long before the meds came into the picture. But he also stopped drinking because alcohol and anti-psychotics didn’t really play well together.

The meds came from a man who told him that relationships were definitively in the “Cannot Do” pile, and while Gaara agreed, he also thought that sort of thinking severely limited him. If he was ever going to bloody understand what the hell was going on with him and the damned Inuzuka, (and over the past few days, Gaara had at least reached the point where he was willing to admit something was going on. Perhaps a something he needed to shoot with a .45, but still – something), then he needed more experience under his belt.

And belts, of course, were another thing right out the window and burning on the “Cannot Do” bonfire. In fact, if Gaara didn’t have a better sense of self – or at least what passed for self-curiosity - Brian would be well on his way to convincing Gaara that his experience with and enjoyment of pain and dominance in the bedroom was just one more unhealthy thing that needed to be “cured.”

With more fucking meds, no doubt.

All the more reason Gaara was damned happy he didn’t tell his shrink about the stabbing incident during his session on Thursday. And one of the many reasons he was seriously considering calling therapy quits. Or at least changing doctors. The only reason he hadn’t until now is that there’d been no catalyst for such a change, and Temari would hear about it. He could hear her slow, patient line of questioning, now, and he was thankful yet again that Jody did an excellent job of stonewalling humanity when Gaara needed it.

But there wasn’t a fence built well enough to keep Gaara away from everyone, and it seemed that he was currently fated to see the Inuzuka at every available opportunity.

And what he’d seen tonight made him feel nine hundred shades of angry, aroused, despondent and a little desperate.

Pissed at the world, Gaara got up and walked to the instrument panel to check on the Bot and his current playlist for Bliss. The night was done, most of the patrons gone, and the sets were queued to wrap up the Tournament. There was no one upstairs at Bliss, and the only lights were from Gaara’s booth and the glowing blue LED screens behind the bars.

Closing his eyes and sighing, Gaara took a step to the right and looked down at a monitor screen embedded in the instrument panel. The monitor was a good idea, actually – Neji’s suggestion, of course. Since Gaara really couldn’t be two places at once, the tiny camera just over the main entrance of Break allowed the DJ to see what went on below while he spun in Bliss.

If, for example, there was an impromptu show going on, Gaara could use the controls for the Bot to update the song list and transitions if he thought it was necessary. If things looked quiet, he could turn down the volume. The monitor gave him eyes to see the room at large and all the players within.

In the spirit of technology being both a blessing and curse, however, the monitor also allowed Gaara to watch earlier in high-resolution as Kiba strapped Sasuke to a bondage tower and proceeded to flog, punish, and torture the blindfolded-and-gagged Uchiha. Naruto watched – as did the rest of the club – from a nearby chair and cropped Sasuke’s dick while Kiba spanked Sasuke with an open hand. Then he unzipped and jerked off onto pale and perfect skin. Gaara squinted at the screen for what felt like hours, unable to tear his eyes away. He was grateful that the Mac ran the sets on autopilot, as he’d be damned if he could do anything else but stare with a dry mouth and clenched fists. It wasn’t until Kiba swiped a finger through his own mess on Sasuke’s hip and wiped it on the raven’s cheek that Gaara managed to shiver and turn away in angry, horrified lust.

Draining the last of the cranberry juice, Gaara slammed the glass down next to the monitor. Days spent in contemplation. Thousands of dollars spent on shrinks and meds. Years spent telling himself that living in denial of all relationships was better for everyone involved…

But when actually faced with the Inuzuka, Gaara was at a complete loss as to what he felt or wanted.

Gaara bit his lip hard enough to draw blood and found himself right back at the beginning of what he thought of as The Vicious Cycle of the Fucking Inuzuka.

“Enough,” Gaara snarled quietly to himself. He hoped that spinning tonight would be a reprieve from the mental torture. Days on end of the same ruts offered no more insights, and Gaara found himself exhausted from dealing with his own brain.

Add that exhaustion to the lingering heat from the scene he got to watch and Gaara was well and truly ready to get home and hide in bed for a while.

Turning, Gaara unplugged his headset and wrapped the cord around his hand. He looped the cord off and hung the earphones on a hook in front of the panel. Gaara looked at the monitor down in Break one last time and saw a mostly-empty room before he turned the damned thing off with a firm flick of a switch. Gaara shoved a notebook into his bag, stepped to grab his empty glass, and just as his fingers reached for the dirty barware, Kiba appeared.

On some level, Gaara knew this was coming. But even so, the sight of him walking slowly toward the booth wearing leather pants and a snug, black shirt was enough to make Gaara’s heart start to pound.

Gods but he hated that reaction. Kiba just made him feel entirely too much, and it, for lack of better word, sucked.

Gaara’s hand fell back down to his side, and his head turned to follow Kiba’s path to the side of the booth. The Inuzuka stopped a few feet away from the three stairs leading up to the service gate. His arms were crossed, his gaze down on the floor, and his mouth was screwed up to one side in a pensive sneer.

Neither man said a word, and Gaara spent the long seconds debating with himself: tell him to go get fucked? Say nothing and walk away? Jump over the gate, put a knife to his throat and kiss the impossible man just to alleviate the itch?

“So here’s the thing,” Kiba said finally, voice making Gaara jerk in surprise. “I just spent some quality time doin’ what I love best: makin’ bruises and gettin’ off on a pretty lil’ bitch who fuckin’ asked for it.” Kiba looked up and met Gaara’s gaze. “But all I could think about was this fucked up rhyme.”

Gaara said nothing, but his expression grew a little more intent. The Inuzuka was doing what he did best: shocking Gaara. Kiba took a step closer and sighed, arms uncrossing and thumbs hooking into the pockets of his pants.

“I got a thing for rhymes. I do this show…” He paused. “Ya know? Don’t matter. Point is, all I could think was: ‘There once was a guy who had a little lie, tattooed to the left on his forehead. But he knew no good, even when he should, and he was bad enough to be horrid.’”

Gaara knew the original verse, of course, about the girl with a curl across her forehead. It was one of his old nanny’s favorites. And he reached out a hand to grip the edge of the instrument panel to steady himself; he could almost hear the beat of bleeding angel’s wings.

Breathe…don’t kill him and just breathe.

Kiba snorted and shook his head, mostly to himself, Gaara thought. “I know: stupid, right? But it’s like I can’t get it outta my mind. And I knew you were here – music was too good downstairs t’be anybody else. So I thought…ya know…” Kiba smiled warmly at Gaara and it made the redhead’s insides flip.

“No, I don’t,” Gaara said, voice raspy.

“’a course,” Kiba chuckled. “Beware da River Nile; full a’things with teeth.”

“…what?” Gaara asked, not following.

“Nothin’,” Kiba said, shaking his head. “Well, I thought I’d come up. Say ‘hi.’ See how ya been.”

Gaara’s molars ached and he forced his jaw to relax. “Fine.”

Kiba tilted his head to one side. The man had an unwavering stare that challenged even Gaara’s. “Ya think ‘bout me?”

“I fucking stabbed you.” Gaara felt the need to point this out as an obvious indicator of how he felt, what he thought, and to be an indirect if vague answer to the question.

“Yeah, well…I’m thinkin’ maybe that’s yer equivalent of a love bite.” Kiba held up his healing hand – Gaara saw the stitched wound with intense clarity – and flexed it.

“A love…” Gaara blew out a tiny puff of air and realized he was stiff from holding himself so still. “You’re insane.”

“Ya said that already. And by the way, Kettle, I’m Pot – have we met?” Kiba ascended two of the steps up to the booth and rested his hands on the service gate. Gaara backed up before getting a grip on himself and standing firm. It took Gaara a second to get the reference, and when he did, he scowled.

“Yer face is gonna freeze if ya keep doin’ that, sweetheart,” Kiba said, eyes shining even in the dim light.

“What do I have to do to make you understand that I’m not interested?” Gaara asked.

“But ya are interested.”

“No, I’m not.” Gaara saw red around the edges of his vision. Damn this asshole and his constant self-confidence.

“Yer lyin’.”

Gaara’s backside hit the railing around the raised booth, making him realize he was backing up. He hated himself with intense purity at that moment, and his eyes were so wide in disbelief at his reaction and this situation, he thought they might bug out of his head. “I’m not fucking lying, you arrogant prick!”

“Yeah ya are. And it ain’t arrogance.” Kiba hopped the gate with lithe grace and stood inside the booth with a wide stance and crossed arms. He tilted his head back as though scenting in the air. “I jus’ know when people like me s’all. It’s like…I can smell it.” Kiba grinned – dangerous and dark. “And baby, you smell really fuckin’ good.”

Gaara stared at the man through a maelstrom of conflicting emotion. He felt trapped and pinned, which was crazy. Gaara was on the other end of the spectrum from damsel in fucking distress, but his hands gripped the metal pole at his back and his legs shook from adrenaline and anger. He was out of words: he’d told Kiba to fuck off, to leave him alone, that he wasn’t interested…that he’d kill him, stab him, (again) and rip his balls off if he got too close. Nothing worked.

And it all wouldn’t be so bad if Kiba were wrong. But, of course, the worst thing was that even if Gaara was too upset at this asshole for rocking his careful and ironic world, he was also…curious.

It was the most he could admit to himself, but it was enough to make him lose sleep at night.

When Gaara remained silent, Kiba smiled and licked his lips, looking like he’d won the fight. Gaara made a low noise, and Kiba chuckled.

“Here’s what I know,” Kiba said calmly, taking a step closer. “Ya want me. And ya really fuckin’ hate that. I got theories on the why part, but ya don’t wanna hear ‘em. And I don’t really feel like explainin’ ‘em right now, either.”

Gaara met Kiba’s eyes with an unflinching gaze made of icebergs covering molten lava.

“An’ I want you. In all sorts a’ ways.” Kiba smiled and took another step closer. His hands dropped to his sides, palms open. “I think ya need more ‘n yer ever willin’ t’admit.”

Gaara’s vision flashed red. “You don’t know me. Stop assuming you do.”

Kiba shrugged one shoulder. “Sure babe. Anythin’ ya say.” He smiled again and his boot made a hollow noise on the floor. He was close enough that Gaara could smell cologne – something spicy and delicious, Gaara admitted with much chagrin.

“So here’s what’s gonna happen: I’m not gonna give up. One way or another, I’ll be ‘round until you or that gigantic body guard a’yers shoots me dead. It’d upset me more that it might come t’that, but I think you might be worth dyin’ over.”

For all sorts of reasons those words made Gaara press harder into the railing and his mouth went dry. Damn this man.

Damn. Him.

“But right now, I need somethin’ from you – and it’s easy,” Kiba said quickly. “I’m gonna either come closer or walk away fer now. And ya get to choose which it’ll be.”

Gaara’s heart did a dive down into his stomach and his shoulders rocked in a tiny shiver. It occurred to him then that he was either entirely more transparent than he ever thought or this man might just be crazily insightful. Either way, the Inuzuka seemed to know exactly what to say, and he had Gaara’s attention and curiosity.

“To make me disappear tonight, you say: ‘Go away for now, please, Kiba.’”

Gaara’s expression darkened at that. Kiba just smiled and Gaara noticed that his voice was clearer of accent again.

“But if you want me closer,” Kiba’s voice dropped to a near whisper. “All ya got to do is close your eyes.”

Heart hammering, Gaara remained silent. He didn’t know what his face betrayed, but Kiba’s expression grew sympathetic as he clasped his hands in front of him and waited. He looked like he could stand there all night, and Gaara swallowed.

This was hell. He’d struggled for days trying to figure out what he wanted, and it all seemed so overly complicated when faced now with this basic choice. Kiba stripped away all the bullshit and now it was simple; the way Gaara preferred things. Get more or delay longer. Face the music now or face it later.

And what, exactly, would Kiba do if he got closer?

Gaara had no idea, and in a shocking bit of honest self-discovery he realized he hadn’t felt this thrilled about the unknown since his days back at Haze.

Thoughts and options swirled and laughed maniacally until Gaara thought he would scream. The scene earlier played in his mind on a vicious loop, and the heat he’d felt while he watched played havoc upon his reason. Unbidden and torturous the thud of lust stemming from the violence that Gaara felt at the shop rose again along with the taste of blood. And now there was this simple choice…and the constant anger…because of the fear…

But he smells like cloves, strawberries, and leather. And his eyes look clear in the blue light.

“Fuck,” Gaara said very, very quietly.

And with a hiccoughing breath he shut his eyes.

For a terrifying second or two, absolutely nothing happened. That was real torture – and Gaara thought that, no, the earlier indecision wasn’t hell: the waiting was. Reality hung suspended on a rack, and Gaara thought he’d made the wrong move. This was stupid, he needed to think, he needed to get out and away and –

Something brushed his lips; warm, wet, and light. Gaara sucked in air through his nose but kept his eyes closed, and he was rewarded with another soft kiss, this one lingering a little longer on his bottom lip. Of all the things in the entire world that Gaara expected of the Inuzuka, such a gentle kiss wasn’t even on the list. It surprised him, lips parting in a quiet gasp for air and sanity, and he felt the faintest brush of fingertip touch against his cheek. The mouth covering Gaara’s pressed more firmly, and a hand slid around the back of Gaara’s neck. Another one clamped around Gaara’s right wrist, but Gaara had no time to think about that because the Inuzuka’s tongue was suddenly assaulting his own in a swift and sure exploration.

Kiba tasted like strawberry smoke, and Gaara kissed him back with a soft noise of greed. In his mind, he begged for more, and his body lit up like a city at night. Every inch of his skin felt over-stimulated and eager; in a rush he could feel his palms slick with nervous sweat on the metal at his back, the faint brush of Kiba’s shirt against his own, the floor beneath his feet, and the hot, wet glide of lips and mouth and tongue. His cock stirred and grew hard in his jeans, and Gaara could have cried in sheer joy as the voices and choices ceased, his mind finding a slice of peace.

Gaara felt a sharp tooth scrape along his lip. The hand on the back of his neck flexed, the pressure around his wrist intensified, and in a fast and brutal move, Gaara found himself with his back to Kiba and his stomach pressed against the bar around the booth. Gaara’s right arm was bent behind his back, Kiba’s hand still on the wrist and putting a light pressure and twist on the joint. Not enough to hurt – but plenty enough to warn.

“Nnn-ahh,” Gaara panted, eyes opening wide and then wider as Kiba’s hand slid with ease down the front of his pants and boxers and wrapped around his cock. That was even more shocking than the kiss, and Gaara couldn’t do a damned thing as brain struggled to catch up to body.

“Mmm,” Kiba purred in Gaara’s ear as his hand gently squeezed. “Now that’s nice.” Kiba’s hand shifted, exploring more than pleasuring. “Hard,” Kiba husked against the side of Gaara’s face. The Inuzuka’s fingers shifted and his thumb tortured the head and made Gaara’s legs shake. “Wet.” He grunted and stroked Gaara once. “I knew you’d have a perfect dick. But seein’s believin’.”

Gaara’s brain scrambled for purchase, alarm bells ringing, lust screaming, body aching. He struggled as Kiba’s hand slid out and started undoing Gaara’s pants. The pressure on his wrist increased by a tiny fraction, and Gaara stopped moving.

“Let go,” Gaara gasped as his dick was freed to the air. Kiba’s body shifted and pressed him harder against the rail, and Gaara could tell Kiba studied him as the Inuzuka slowly closed his fist around Gaara’s length one finger at a time and stroked. The pleasure was nearly bizarre in its onslaught.

“No,” Kiba replied. “Hold still or hurt, babe. Your choice.”

“Fuck you,” Gaara hissed and struggled. Immediately his wrist flared with pain and his arm went numb. He gasped as his torso pressed hard into the rail, the push just under his diaphragm forcing air out of his lungs.

“Later, bitch,” Kiba husked. “Right now, I’m a little busy.”

A retort died on Gaara’s tongue as the hand on his shaft shifted skin with experimental pressure and pull. Gaara made a frustrated noise but stopped struggling. Immediately the pain in his wrist eased by fractions of degrees, and Gaara shook his head to try to clear the fog that seemed to pad his mind.

“You gotta pretty little cock,” Kiba praised, his head leaning and pressing against Gaara’s face, lips moving next to Gaara’s cheek. The Inuzuka’s hand slid down Gaara’s shaft to palm his balls, middle finger pressing behind them as he squeezed. Gaara shuddered.

“Ooh, like that?” Kiba whispered. He squeezed again and Gaara hissed a curse as his body shivered.

“Tell me ya like it.”

Gaara’s eyes shut, and he turned his head away from Kiba. But his hips bucked seeking sensation, and pre-cum oozed from his cock.

“Fuck I love you stubborn,” Kiba said and kissed Gaara’s jaw. His hand pulled away entirely and Gaara’s eyes opened to slits as he listened to Kiba work up saliva and spit into the palm of his hand.

“Shit,” Gaara whispered, and he froze in anticipation of how a slick hand would feel on his skin.

“Ask me,” Kiba said, nose pressing into the side of Gaara’s face. Stubble scratched and rubbed, and Gaara could feel Kiba’s smile.

“Fuck you.”

Kiba pressed on Gaara’s wrist and Gaara called out. His brain stuttered for a second into white noise; the combination of growling voice, gentle touch, and pain threatened to annihilate thought and resistance and sense of self.

“Ask. Me.”

Gaara’s mouth opened and he struggled to find words. He licked his lips. “Stroke me, dammit,” Gaara finally managed to gasp. Then, through grit teeth and heavy shame: “Please.”

“Better,” Kiba said, easing up on Gaara’s wrist and hand meeting heated flesh. Gaara moaned as Kiba started working him with fluid strokes. It felt so good…everything did: the bar hampering his air, the strain on his elbow, the rough cheek on his face. Better than the dreams that haunted his sleep. Better than images conjured by curiosity. Imagination didn’t know that Kiba’s hands were a little rough; calloused. His memory couldn’t supply the sheer heady delight of the growling voice in his ear. And his lips still tingled from the unexpected kiss that made him just –

“Want,” Gaara breathed, not knowing he spoke until Kiba replied.

“I know.”

Gaara panted and his body rolled with the strokes, hips jerking. He had no idea how long it went on, but when Kiba licked up his neck and bit at the skin behind his ear, Gaara moaned like a wanton whore in heat.

“Fuck yeah,” Kiba said, delighted. “That’s what I want. Make ya hard, make ya want it, make ya beg.”

Gaara bit his lip.

Kiba rumbled a chuckle. “Don’t come, yet, bitch.”

Gaara’s eyes opened, and he panted, face forming a grimace of pleasure and concentration.

“Don’t come,” Kiba repeated.

“Fuck off,” Gaara snarled, eyes squeezing shut and head going back onto Kiba’s shoulder.

“Damn that’s hot. Tell me ya like this.”

“Get fucked,” Gaara gasped, thrusting up to meet Kiba’s hand. The growling command to delay release still rung in Gaara’s ears, and for some insane reason he found himself trying to obey. The hand on his cock was ruthless in its pressure, but the speed slowed. Gaara whined in frustration, the end of the sound nearly a snarl.

“Tell me. Ya fuckin’ like this. Bitch.”

“I said –“ Gaara began.

Kiba snarled and gripped Gaara’s dick in a painful grasp. His other hand pushed down on Gaara’s wrist and pulled up at the same time, the pain lancing hot then cold down his arm. Gasping, Gaara’s mouth fell open, and he struggled with sincerity not to come. Harsh breathing filled the air, and Gaara’s head dug into Kiba’s shoulder.

Kiba’s teeth bit into Gaara’s cheek none-too-gently, and Gaara whimpered at the feel of sharp teeth pressing into his skin for a split second.

“Tell me ya fuckin’ like it, or I’m gonna chain you to this goddamned railing with yer dick out and leave ya here, ya little cunt.”

The voice sounded nearly inhuman and Gaara shuddered. The assault on his body, the sound of threat and violence in his ears, and the hands on him unraveled the last pieces of Gaara’s willpower. His jaw ached with tension, and air burst from his lips in a pant as his body forced him to breathe.

“I like it,” Gaara gasped. And the three words seemed to break a dam. “Kiba,” he groaned, voice needy, and his eyes slid shut as his body threatened to collapse. But Kiba maneuvered them so the rail and his hand around Gaara’s wrist held him up. The pain in his arm stopped, but the pressure remained, and the strokes increased in speed.

Kiba made a rumbling sound – something low in his chest. His hand twisted on Gaara’s dick: up, over the head, harsh pull down and then back up. Then again, only faster.

“Shit!” Gaara spat. “Yeah…like it…God, fuck, yes…”

“You like my hand on yer dick?” Kiba asked, voice still low but faintly analytical.

“Yeah,” Gaara breathed, head rolling against Kiba’s shoulder.

“You like me pinning ya to the rail?” Kiba pressed Gaara a fraction harder, and Gaara made a wheezing sound that was half laugh and all heat.

“Fuck. Yes.” Gaara bucked hard into the hand on him.

Oh god…good…so…please, oh…

“And this?” Kiba put a gentle pressure on Gaara’s wrist again, and it burned and held and controlled.

Gaara made a keening noise. “Fuck…Kiba…” Then, a whisper: “Please.”

The single word trailed off into a soft noise of need and then desperation as Kiba’s hand began to work him with a ruthless rhythm, nearly horrible and painful in its demand on Gaara’s body. Noises spilled from the redhead’s lips, and he shivered; eyes dilated, heat thrumming in his gut, orgasm mere seconds away.

It felt fucking amazing.

Kiba grinned against Gaara’s face. “Then if ya like it so fuckin’ much, come already, slut.” Kiba did something to Gaara’s dick that was perfection in the slick-slide-drag, and he felt just the slightest dig of fingernail.

Gaara stiffened first in shock of the sensation and command, and then in amazement as he cried out and his body obeyed the words even as his mind reeled. Pleasure shot along his cock and up his spine, and long jets of white release spilled onto the floor beside the booth. Gaara panted and rocked hard with the orgasm: the pleasure so swift and sudden it hurt. Kiba held him still and upright, hand ceasing to stroke and squeezing gently instead in time to Gaara’s thudding pulse.

Panting filled Gaara’s ears, and it took a second to realize it was him making all the noise. Kiba released Gaara’s spent dick, and he wiped his hand on his own pants before moving it between Gaara’s body and the railing. The other hand let go of Gaara’s wrist, rubbed at the abused joint in a way that released tension and pain, and then he smoothed sweaty red hair behind Gaara’s ear. His breathing was mostly steady and even, body calm and sturdy behind Gaara’s.

The redhead took a moment to hate him for that.

“That was perfect, Gaara,” Kiba said softly.

“…don’t need your praise,” Gaara said between sucks of air.

Kiba laughed and kissed Gaara’s cheek. “Yeah. Ya do.”

Gaara was going to reply to that in kind, but Kiba’s hand covered his mouth. “Gonna go now. Want to remember you just like this: dick shiny and softening, smell of yer cum and sweat, way ya sound breathing like that.” Kiba sighed and his hands slid to squeeze Gaara’s hips. “Gonna go fuck my own hand and think about that.”

Gaara found himself without comment but with plenty of mental images.

Lips pressed again to Gaara’s cheek, and Kiba pushed away from Gaara. Immediately Gaara felt the sweat on his back start to cool. He didn’t turn to watch, but he heard Kiba leave the booth and then, after a moment, heard the door leading out into the garden open and then shut.

With a long exhale of air, Gaara turned, put his back to the instrument panel, and crumpled to the floor. He managed to get cock and clothing back in order, and he sat with his arms resting on spread knees while his breathing returned to normal. Blissfully, his brain still seemed to be on mute, and he just wanted to enjoy that for the time being.

Gaara sat there feeling relaxed and nicely dazed for an indeterminate amount of time before a noise made his eyes open and body twist in alarm, heart suddenly pounding in his chest again.

Kimimaro stood next to the booth with a mop, and he carefully cleaned the floor with lowered gaze. He wore nothing but a loose pair of cotton pants, a carefully neutral expression, and a raging hard-on. Making quick work of the floor, Kimi put the mop back in the bucket. One hand steadying the mop handle, Kimi bowed to Gaara.

“Apologies for disturbing you, Red.” Kimi kept his gaze lowered. “Master Kiba often leaves one in need of reflection.”

Gaara blinked and silently agreed, even though he felt like a kid caught with his hand in a candy jar. He managed to nod once, body tense.

“I’m happy to take care of the club, should you wish to leave.” Kimi’s gaze moved up and didn’t quite meet Gaara’s eyes. “And I consider it an honor to maintain the privacy of others who have my respect.”

Gaara sighed, thought dark thoughts of the Universe, and got to his feet. He grabbed his bag.

“Thank you, Red,” Kimi said with another bow.

The thanks was confusing, but Gaara pushed that thought away. It was easy to do right now, the lassitude still upon him. He wondered how long that would last…

Unable to think of anything to say and trying hard not to think about anything at all, Gaara turned and left.

~*~
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Rhythm & Bruise: Gaara's Story