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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
- 13
- 14
- 15
Gaara sat in Beast with the engine idling in the garage. He heard metal creak and a car door slam, and, sighing, he turned his key in the ignition. Gaara reached for the handle to get out and his hand grasped air as Kiba opened the car door for him. Scowling and feeling strange to himself -- underwater, embarrassed, just odd -- Gaara climbed out of Beast and tried not to look too hard at the Inuzuka. He wore a soft, fitted shirt with pearly snap buttons that was the color of fire-kissed maple leaves in autumn. It bunched over the belt buckle and waist of his snug jeans. Gaara had to wrench his eyes away from the bulge at Kiba's crotch, and he yanked the door away from Kiba, slamming it with force.

"Ouch," Kiba said. His hand rose like he was going to pat Beast's roof, and Gaara's eyes narrowed.

Instead of touching the car, however, Kiba patted the air just above it. He grinned, canines flashing.

With a frustrated sound, Gaara turned on his heel and went over to the wall to push the button that lowered the heavy, metal garage door. Kiba followed, thumbs in his pockets, and Gaara walked to the lone door out of the garage. He keyed in a security code on the pad next to the exit and then walked outside, not waiting on Kiba. Gaara wouldn't quite mind it if the door somehow hit Kiba, but he also couldn't bring himself to enact that bit of violence, either.

"Nice fence ya got there," Kiba commented.

"I like my privacy."

"So ya can go swimmin' at night in that?" Kiba asked, hopeful as he pointed to the plunge pool and hot tub in Gaara's back yard. The water steamed in the chill of the afternoon air.

"Sometimes…yes…" Gaara answered, getting out his keys.

"Sweet," Kiba replied, stopping so closely to Gaara that the redhead could smell him: faint aftershave, soap, cigarettes, and strawberries. Gaara swallowed as he applied key to lock and went inside his home. Quickly he stepped over to the security panel and entered another code. Kiba closed the door and threw the deadbolt and chain lock. Gaara liked that he didn't have to tell Kiba to do that, and he bent to unlace his work boots.

"This is nice," Kiba complimented.

Gaara stepped out of his shoes before turning and tilting his head at the Inuzuka. "You're in the foyer." Gaara felt the need to point this out as the rest of the house was, in fact, much nicer than the entryway, and from this room the view was limited. Gaara watched dispassionately as Kiba braced on the wall with one hand while he got off his shoes. He crossed his arms, frowning as he caught himself getting worked up at not understanding a compliment.

"The outside, I mean," Kiba said. He took a step toward Gaara, and it was all Gaara could do to stay still. His eyes canted down and a crazy urge to get closer and feel to see if Kiba wore the wide-banded watch today -- put a hand around the wrist that was wider than Gaara's, to touch -- threatened to make his feet move without his brain's approval. The want of such a thing made his heart pound too hard and his lungs hurt for air. He stared at the undone shirt cuff that hung down to brush the back of Kiba's hand.

"What's wro--" Kiba started but he was interrupted by a loud hiss. His head jerked toward the sound, and he took a step back. "The fuck is that?"

"Cat," Gaara said, both calling the name and giving explanation. Cat was on the stairs, yellow eyes on Kiba and low rumble issuing from his throat. Gaara knelt down, and Cat cautiously approached, eyes on the interloper.

"That's not a cat; that's a damned mini-jaguar," Kiba muttered.

"He's a Maine Coon," Gaara explained, liking it when Cat arched up into Gaara's hand to be stroked, growl turning into a purr. Gaara scratched Cat's back, glad to have something to occupy himself that he could feel and experience without hyperventilating.

"And he's, ah, yers?" Kiba asked.

"Yes," Gaara answered, word forming slowly as he thought Cat's presence in his home should be a clear indicator that Cat belonged there, and he didn't understand why Kiba sounded so odd.

"…right. So yer a cat person?"

"As opposed to…?" Gaara stood up and gave Kiba a blank look.

"A dog person," Kiba answered.

Gaara thought about it. "I have to choose a side?"

Kiba barked a laugh, making both Cat and Gaara jump.

"What?" Gaara asked.

"Nothin', that was just…" Kiba licked his lips. "Ya know, never mind. I got a dog. Big guy by the name of Akamaru."

"Good?" Gaara tried.

"Yeah, it is." Kiba smiled. "He's a great guy, really. Ya might like 'im."

Gaara pondered the likelihood of his personality meshing with one of an animal that belonged to the Inuzuka and got caught up in the fur and teeth of the contemplation. Kiba remained silent and the only sound was the rumble-roar of Cat's purr.

Wiping his hands on his jeans, Gaara tried to figure out what Jody would tell him to do in the situation. Gaara did value the big man's ability to explain social customs in a way that didn't make Gaara feel entirely obtuse or like punching something.

"Are you thirsty?" Gaara asked, pleased that his voice came out level and faintly inquisitive. His mouth was dry, so perhaps Kiba's was, too.

"Nah," Kiba said with a shrug. "Thanks, though."

"Oh."

Well…now what?

Hesitantly, Gaara leaned toward the stairs; thought about going up to get himself some water. But the risers looked like so much effort, and Gaara's head tilted town. He absently picked a cat hair off of his work shirt, saw a grease stain, and turned to walk down the hallway toward the master suite. Kiba's footsteps followed, and Gaara stopped, frowning over his shoulder. "What are you doing?"

"Keepin' an eye on you."

"I'm just going to change."

Kiba smiled, and in the dim light his eyes flashed. The effect startled Gaara breathless for a heartbeat, and he turned away to put one hand to his head, dizzy.

"Jody'd kill me if I didn't stick with you. 'swhy I'm here, sweetheart."

"Whatever," Gaara mumbled. The way Kiba slurred "sweetheart" and turned it into an affectionate growl made Gaara want to lean against the wall. An internal war began to rage on three fronts: he understood some things, he didn't want to accept any of them, and that battle raged over the bloody graves of stirring memories.

"Ya okay?" Kiba came closer, the smell of smoke got stronger, and images blotted Gaara's vision: Kiba's hand burning up Itachi's ass, swirling smoke over his DJ booth, a piece of candy at Gaara's feet, Jody reaching for him, Uncle's eyes, the flash of Vince's gold teeth…

"Fine," Gaara spat. He stalked down the hallway and shoved open the door to the walk-in closet near his bedroom, angrily flicking on the light. Four racks of shelving were to Gaara's left and right. A wooden vanity of sorts was straight ahead, shoes stacked in tall shelving, and a large mirror stood in one back corner. Gaara paused in the middle of the room, and his head slowly swiveled to the left. Beneath the hanging shirttails was a shelf and on the shelf was a Glock: loaded and ready for fire.

Kiba leaned in the doorway, arms crossed. "Ya ain't actin' fine."

Gaara let the words roll off of him. He didn't know what "fine" meant, really. It was just something one said to get people to shut up, and Gaara knew by now that such tactics were useless against people like Kiba and Jody. He stared at the gun and thought about chocolate roses.

"You're a DJ," Gaara stated. He reached down to the hem of his polo work shirt and pulled it off without hesitation. It soundlessly dropped to the carpet, and Gaara shivered with a chill, skin tightening. He resisted the urge to rub at his arms, forcing them to hang by his sides.

There was a pause. "Yeah…I am."

Gaara swallowed as the rustle of fabric told him Kiba came closer. His eyes darted from gun to floor and back again. Gaara's feet were frozen in place, and his hands curled into fists. He'd been so relieved to see Kiba at the shop. Should he hate himself for that? It was irrational to be happier with company in the face of threat; more people to protect, and Gaara didn't know if Kiba could even manage a weapon.

More irrational was that the skin of Gaara's back was warmer than his front. His nipples pebbled with chill, but the awareness of the Inuzuka seemed to make blood flow backward.

That made some sense; Kiba turned everything else upside down. What was a little physiological reversal on top of the mental games?

Breathe…goddammit…

"Got a show after hours on WKDS…ya been checkin' up on me?" Kiba's voice was unusually soft; damned near tender. Gaara's teeth clenched; stopped him from yelling at the Inuzuka to cut that shit out. Cut it out right now.

Gaara closed his eyes as the floor tilted; made him think he was falling when he knew he wasn't. Widening his stance, Gaara tried to pull his mind away from the distraction of skin, voice, and presence to think; to explain why he was so unmade in the hope he could rediscover balance. This wasn't Haze or Break or even Bliss -- this was his home. Kiba wasn't some cold, calculating stranger -- he was warm, aggressive, and known. Gaara's breath was quick, his pulse was quicker, and he stared again at the gun. A vision rose from the tilting floor -- a hazy swirl of smoke and mirrors: a boy on his knees begging for his life.

"No." Gaara answered Kiba and pleaded with his mind at the same time.

"I know what you do," Kiba said, voice clearer, closer, and Gaara licked his lips, head shaking in a minute movement of denial.

"'course I do…seen and heard ya plenty 'a times at the clubs."

For some reason, Gaara didn't think Kiba was talking about music anymore, and it was confusing to know that; to feel that it was right. Gaara stood at the crossroads of indecision and fear: he didn't know what he wanted, didn't want to understand what had struck him immobile and incapable. The humiliation of ignorance and his position threatened to drown him; the agony of wanting to ask Kiba -- to order him, tell him, beg him -- to please do something filled Gaara's lungs with lead.

A flash of white in Gaara's vision and he heard the boy condemned by the Saints to die--

"Please…please God, no…"

--for sins wrapped up in survival; heard his own reply before Gaara pulled the trigger--

"Sorry…there is no God."

--and Gaara clenched his teeth against more memory--

A guncrack, a door squeak.

"Uncle? Why are you --"

"Shh…" A finger to lips. A shift of sheets. A presence moving toward him.

--and Gaara whimpered in the here in and now.

A heartbeat and hands touched Gaara's body -- one on his arm, one on his waist. They were warm, the grip gentle, and Gaara could feel every finger like it burned through cloth and charred skin.

A breath sucked through teeth and Gaara lunged for the shelf, fingers wrapping around the Glock. The gun was cool and heavy; like Gaara couldn't lift it if he tried.

A dazed blink and Gaara had a small eternity to wonder why he wanted a weapon; he didn't want to shoot the man who sent him strawberry jam. He didn't want to hurt the guy who wasn't phased by Gaara's anything -- past to penchant for violence to perceptual impasse.

A gasp and a body pressed along Gaara's back, the warmth of it hundreds of times hotter than the impression left by anticipation. The hand at Gaara's waist pulled and guided, the one on his arm squeezed, and Gaara heard the faint sing-song of nursery rhyme. The closet was crowded with delusions of pain, but a solid, steady hand reached and covered Gaara's over the gun. The contrast of skin tone -- darkness and light -- made Gaara blink, the effort monumental since each of his eyelashes weighed a ton.

A choked sound that startled Gaara's body into a violent jerk, and then a voice in Gaara's ear: "Ya can shoot me if ya need to, sweetheart."

"Uncle, stop…please…please?"

A door clicks closed, nightlight and shadow in a child's borrowed room in hell.

Time slipped, stopped, sped up. Gaara panted through his nose, and Kiba kissed his neck.

"Let go when you want to," Kiba whispered.

Gaara gutted a sound and trembled all over when the hand over his on the Glock let go to slide up and around to the front of his throat. Fingers brushed over Gaara's rapid-fire pulse and a thumb squeezed just beneath the line of Gaara's jaw. The other hand moved, too, and a palm covered Gaara's cock through his jeans. He got hard so fast his head swam, and Gaara arched back and into Kiba, hand letting go of the gun to fly up and slap against the one at his throat -- but not to yank it away.

Gaara threaded his fingers between Kiba's and forced Kiba to squeeze. The grip on his cock tightened, too, and Gaara writhed, not aware of anything but the evaporation of thought that accompanied the adrenaline and fire dumping into his veins.

"Good, baby, good," Kiba crooned. He forced Gaara's head back and sharp teeth dragged along the skin of Gaara's neck. The redhead wanted to hate the words -- wanted to wad them up like cum-stained dirty sheets and throw them into watery denial. But instead he whined and to Gaara, it sounded like the noise came from very far away.

"Gonna mark up your neck and shoulder, sweetheart. Let go of my hand if you want me to stop."

Gaara growled, brain misfiring as thoughts tried to scramble together and missed each other like dancers without rhythm. Kiba's hand roughly pushed Gaara's head to one side, forcing a sound from Gaara's lungs followed by a strangled noise as Kiba's teeth sank into Gaara's flesh.

"Nnh…nnh…yes," Gaara hissed as Kiba sucked on skin made by the spaces between their fingers. Kiba's grip firmed, thumb digging painfully into the space behind Gaara's ear. The pinch of teeth on unbroken skin was a prelude to the fierce suck of lips, and Gaara squirmed as he felt a rough tongue push against his throat. His pulse pounded in his ears and beneath the pads of Kiba's fingertips, and just when he got enough neurons together to start to speak -- to cuss, to warn, to anything -- the hand at his crotch moved layers of fabric over Gaara's dick.

"Gah," Gaara gasped, dots flaring in his field of vision. He could barely breathe but didn't want more air; he wanted more restriction, craved and burned. Gaara's head bent on a painful angle, and Kiba's mouth reared back to snap onto a new patch of skin, lower. The sound of wet tongue and sucking mouth filled Gaara's ears, and Kiba groaned. The noise made Gaara's eyes go impossibly wide, and his entire body shuddered. Kiba's shirt rubbed against Gaara's back, the chilly dig of the buttons caught and dragged. The sharp tang of sweat swirled with smoke and filled Gaara's nose, and his eyes burned.

A roar of fluttering heartbeats drowned something Kiba said, and Gaara's throat worked in a hard swallow. The hand on Gaara's cock squeezed once and let go, and Gaara gritted his teeth to hold back a snarl of anger. But Gaara didn't fight it when Kiba grasped Gaara's wrist and bent that arm behind Gaara's back, making room by stepping away and then pressing them together again. It was better than the DJ booth; it wasn't an impersonal bar stopping his air this time, but a wide hand. Kiba's blunt nails dug and the fingertip of his ring finger stroked with care that undermined and also enforced Kiba's grip.

"Yer skin's so goddamned pretty when it's bruised," Kiba rumbled, and Gaara didn't remember Kiba stopping his kisses though he felt the cool rush of air over marred, wet flesh. Kiba mouthed Gaara's ear, and the redhead struggled. He hated attention to his ears; thought he hated it; swore to himself that he knew that fact to be true.

A lick traced the shell and stubble rubbed the rough way, and Gaara's lower lip and knees trembled.

"I love you like this," Kiba whispered, and Gaara felt every word as it formed. The brushes made him want to scream, not to stop but for more. There were no pictures, no visions, no nothing…just Kiba's hand on his throat, body against his, and tongue against skin that felt so alive it was its own external entity feeding shocks of sensation to Gaara's brain.

"Ki…Kiba…" Gaara rasped, voice alien to his ears.

A rustle of denim, subtle movement of bodies locked together in a fight for air, a snick of knife, and Gaara stared at the fixture set in the ceiling above.

"Bet this skin a'yers is real sensitive," Kiba said. "Bet it shows every…little thing…"

Gaara's chest heaved and went rigid as the cool, pointed tip of blade touched his sternum. Gaara's hand moved between them, and the edge went away.

"No," Gaara gasped, and he gripped Kiba's belt in a scrabble. He yanked to find a hold and to tell Kiba to bring back the blade. Gaara's motion moved them both, and the world spun as his brain screeched that he shouldn't be doing this. Gaara shouldn't be asking for more. Fucking hell but that was weak, insipid…wrong. He should fight the man at his back -- should destroy him. Rip off his cock, gouge out his eyes, turn and take the knife and--

"Gonna let me play, baby?" Kiba's gritty voice cut through the wailing in Gaara's brain. The tip of the knife's blade scraped from collarbone to belly button in a long, smooth line, and protest died in its wake.

Gaara couldn't answer, but apparently Kiba didn't need him to. "Want t'scratch ya up with red lines." Another drag over ribs, and Gaara didn't move. "I wanna outline you in marks," Kiba husked, and Gaara tensed against a shiver. The drag of knife tip moved to his navel, but then stopped to turn. The next move was the length of the blade, and Gaara could do nothing but feel the thrum of his aching cock and the singing of blood that he wished Kiba would spill. Worried that Kiba would do it; and that fear made Gaara die at the thought and it buried him deep.

"Mm, I was right," Kiba husked. "Fuckin' love it when I'm right. Ya can see what I'm doin' in that mirror over there. Watch with me, baby…" Kiba bodily moved them both, and Gaara would have stumbled except for Kiba's leg pressed into the back of Gaara's. Kiba leaned, forcing Gaara to rest against Kiba and the hold the Inuzuka had on Gaara's throat. The pressure changed as Kiba forced Gaara's view to shift from ceiling to wall, the thumb behind Gaara's ear jabbing into the base of his skull and tilting his head down.

"Now you see," Kiba growled, mouth against Gaara's hair and eyes meeting the redhead's in the mirror. By the glare of the overhead light, Gaara studied his heaving form. His neck was marked with a line of deep maroon splotches that would soon morph into black and blue. Kiba's hand spanned his throat, and the part of Gaara that remained objective marveled at how small his neck looked in Kiba's grasp. Gaara's arm disappeared behind his back, and he clutched at Kiba's belt again: flexed to feel it. His jeans sagged low on his hips, showing bright red curls beneath navel and above fly. His cock was a thick, denim line that twitched as Gaara stared, reminding Gaara it was real and needed more of Kiba's touch, his voice, his anything. The memory of Kiba's hand jerking him off made Gaara's jaw flex, and he saw his mouth open in a silent cry a second before Kiba grinned and sliced the blade tip over Gaara's stomach.

The knife was utilitarian with a black handle, and the slither of its edge wasn't deep enough to cut: it scratched. Kiba waited, Gaara panted a single breath, and Kiba rumbled a sound of approval when a red line stood up on Gaara's skin.

"Fuckin' gorgeous," Kiba sighed. "Yer gonna let me sketch these…" He began to outline Gaara's abs. The blade almost tickled, and Gaara watched it dance. Contours of muscles were soon rimmed in angry red, and Kiba added another line up the center of Gaara's body: from stomach to throat and back again. The image of the knife turning and stabbing into Gaara flooded over him, made him cough a sound. In a flash Gaara saw his guts spilling onto the floor, saw Kiba's twisted sneer, saw a crazy gleam in green eyes.

"D-don't…" Gaara stammered, amazed at the effort it took to speak. He didn't know if he was talking to his brain or to the man behind him, and Kiba's eyes -- calculating, cautious, and fever-bright -- met Gaara's in the mirror. The blade paused, resting.

"Don’t tease you like this?" Kiba said, clearly. He turned the knife so the flat of the blade pressed against Gaara's skin. "Ya wanna bleed a little for me? Hold still so I can make ya run red and taste you?"

The words made Gaara's eyes shut. Fingers petted his neck, the blade sought north and began to circle around Gaara's nipple. It went hard in seconds, the pinch-drag-sting of the knife pulling at Gaara's cock, and he couldn't form an answer. The urge to fight fell away as the need to feel the slice of knife rose, and he felt too many kinds of insane.

"Open your eyes if you want it, sweetheart," Kiba said, and his head moved, hair tickling, and lips pressed once to Gaara's hot skin. He saw too much too fast in a movie that played on the backs of Gaara's eyelids: Kiba licked his letter-opener wound, and Gaara felt a sharp tug of guilt. Kiba ordered Gaara to tell him what he liked, and Gaara shook as he wanted that again. Kiba stood in the DJ booth--

"All ya gotta do is close your eyes…"

--and Gaara got lost in the need to open and close pieces of himself.

"You are the first person or thing I’ve ever really wanted."

Gaara couldn't breathe, he felt panicky, and his lids stayed squeezed shut.

"…keepin' an eye on you…'swhy I'm here, sweetheart."

Toned pants filled Gaara's ears, and he despised that they were coming from his throat. He wasn't sure if he wanted bloodshed, which was strange and torturous by itself. A boiling cauldron of worry overflowed in Gaara's stomach when nothing happened and Kiba's even breathing never changed. Anger followed -- Gaara shouldn't be so fucking concerned about whether or not the Inuzuka was upset. Gaara had no idea what in the hell that meant or where it came from. The asshole had a knife to Gaara's skin, he should be anything but worried about disappointing the damnable man who made Gaara want to yell in hunger and confusion.

"Good, baby, good," Kiba said, and he sounded relieved. Gaara didn’t understand that, but he felt the blade pull away. He heard the click of it shutting; felt himself relax at the sound. The knife hit the carpet with a barely audible thump, and Gaara sucked in a breath to say something again, but the oxygen and syllables and the anger behind them evaporated when Kiba wrenched Gaara around and kissed him hard. One hand cupped and cradled the back of Gaara's skull, fingers twisting into hair, and the other wrapped lower, ground them together. The sound the motion pulled from Gaara was surprised, eager, and grateful, and Kiba answered it with an echo and a diving, demanding tongue.

Gaara thought he didn't like kissing, but that fact settled in his mind like a feather that got scorched by the heat Kiba created with teeth and lips. Moaning, Gaara pressed back against the Inuzuka, wrapped his free arm around Kiba's neck and demanded more with the urgency in touch and taste. Kiba complied, hands roaming, searching, squeezing. Gaara hissed when Kiba pulled away at long last, and called out when Kiba's hands moved up Gaara's back to hook over Gaara's narrow shoulders. Kiba pulled Gaara backward, his head bent, and teeth found Gaara's knife-teased nipple.

"Oh shit," Gaara garbled. He set his jaw against words not under his control and ordered: "Kiba. Harder."

With a slick sound, Kiba's pointed canines pierced Gaara's skin; he felt them break through, draw blood, and it was so much better than the knife. That was just a means to an end. This was personal.

Gaara's arms clutched at Kiba's head, and he felt Kiba pull on the wound. He reared up, yanked Gaara upright as he caught one of Gaara's legs between his own and lasciviously licked his lip. Kiba's eyes were black stone ringed by lime. "Taste like you look, sweetheart…" Kiba's face drew closer, and he pressed them together again, making Gaara's eyelids flutter. "All cream and flawless and sweet for me…"

"Sh-shut up," Gaara stuttered before he made a surprised sound as Kiba bruised his mouth again in a kiss.

"No," Kiba snarled when he pulled away, saliva slicks linking their lips. "Not shuttin' up. Tell you what I am gonna fuckin' do, though." Kiba's hand went down and squeezed Gaara's ass, force-rubbed Gaara's dick against Kiba's leg. Words left in the spikes of red need that pierced Gaara's core, and he sank into Kiba's hold on him. Gaara's head fell forward onto Kiba's chest, arms about the other man.

"Gonna take ya into the bedroom, get yer pants down, yer hands bound, and yer cock out." Gaara's breathing went staccato and Kiba hand went up to grip Gaara's hair. Letting Kiba wrench his head back, Kiba's mouth hovered over Gaara's and pulled some of Gaara's expelled air into the Inuzuka's lungs.

"Then I'm gonna blow ya so I can drink yer cum."

Gaara lost the ability to speak, but again, Kiba didn't seem to need Gaara's input. He jerked the redhead around, pushed him toward the closet door. Gaara tried to walk, but Kiba kept upsetting his balance: a pull backward against Kiba's hard chest and a bite to Gaara's throat made him trip. Kiba caught him, walked behind Gaara as he tortured the redhead's ear until Gaara made a high-pitched complaining sound. Kiba shoved Gaara and turned him around, yanking him into the steel embrace of Kiba's arms again, and they crossed the threshold of Gaara's bedroom with their mouths locked. Gaara's hands fisted Kiba's shirt, tore at it until some of the snaps came undone, and Kiba sucked hard on Gaara's tongue with a low moan.

When the backs of Gaara's legs hit the bed, he cried out in surprise as Kiba picked Gaara up about the waist and threw him onto the covers. A heavy body pinned Gaara's a rushed breath later, and their tongues went back to fighting wars for dominance. Kiba shoved a hand between them, undoing Gaara's pants in a flurry of groping clutches and messy kisses. Gaara bucked up, fingers pulling hard on Kiba's hair. The locks were thick around Gaara's fingers, and the texture fascinated him until Kiba's hand shoved down Gaara's jeans and beneath his boxers. A warm grip fisted Gaara and stroked, and Gaara's entire body arched and writhed.

"God I love you hard for me," Kiba muttered over Gaara's skin, and the redhead started to tell Kiba to shut up and get on with it, but Kiba startled him again by sitting up. In movements so fast Gaara could barely process them, Kiba bent and pulled Gaara's pants and underwear down to his knees. Kiba straddled Gaara's thighs, the muscles in his legs visibly moving beneath the snug, worn denim. Gaara stared until Kiba's fist wrapped around Gaara's dick again and stroked, and Gaara met the looming Inuzuka's eyes, lips catching noises that Gaara didn't want to let go.

"Yer beautiful, Gaara." The words were a slow pronouncement accompanied by a panning sweep of focused gaze, and Gaara squirmed, scowling. His hands snagged the bedspread, and he started to rise -- to do anything to get away from that all-seeing stare -- but Kiba's palm shoved him onto the bed and Kiba's mouth chased Gaara down, trapping him flat on his back.

"Ya gonna fight me over the truth, baby?" Kiba asked and Gaara snarled: angry, lost, mortified.

"Stop fucking--" Gaara began, but Kiba lunged to close the distance between their mouths and he bit, incisor puncturing Gaara's lower lip. The redhead's eyes went wide, his body stilled, and one of Gaara's hands froze on its way to shoving at the man atop of him, the other flailing to grip reflexively at Kiba's shoulder. The pain began as shock, and it knocked willpower out of Gaara entirely.

Kiba growled low in his throat, a fascinating rumbling noise, and he balanced on his knees while his hands went down to his belt. Gaara blinked and met Kiba's gaze in close quarters, saw the command there--

Hold fuckin' still.

--and obeyed it, staying where he was without a struggle. The pain lanced, delicious and hot, and something wet slipped down his chin.

Gaara whimpered and watched Kiba's eyes cloud.

A rasp of leather through denim sounded in the bedroom, and Gaara's cock twitched from inattention. Gingerly, Kiba's teeth increased their pressure until Gaara grunted, eyes scrunching shut, and his hands scrambled for purchase. He didn't push Kiba away, and he didn't pull him closer: he searched for something to hold onto else he fall into a deep well without bottom.

Kiba slowly let go, and bent to lick Gaara's chin. He hummed an appreciative noise, and Gaara gulped down air in harsh pants. He stared at Kiba's bloody mouth, watched a tongue lap it clean, and then Kiba's voice cut through the fog: "Put your wrists together and hold 'em up."

Gaara complied, limbs moving through molasses, and he watched as Kiba wrapped a belt around his arms. A tiny part of Gaara screamed in defiance: fought, scrambled, thrashed and tried to find surface. Gaara frowned, and made a quiet noise of fear because he didn't want to listen to that harpy screech. He shoved it away and felt Kiba cinch the belt tight, using the belt holes and twisting the end under a loop.

"Put 'em above your head."

As Gaara obeyed, Kiba fell forward onto one hand. He reached and grasped Gaara's jaw and jerked it to one side, making Gaara's breathing stutter. Thought fractured further, his heard pounded, and hot air blew over his cheek.

"Fight me again, bitch, and I'll make yer damned dick bleed."

"Oooh…" Gaara groaned, loud in the quiet room, and he didn't care.

"Better," Kiba praised, grip still tight on Gaara's jaw, and Gaara's pulse tripped to double time. "Gonna suck you now, gorgeous. And yer gonna come hard for me."

Gaara couldn't do anything but shut his eyes. The heat was going to stop his heart; he wasn't going to get off, he was doing to die before that happened. He lay loose and pliant on the bed, and blinked as he felt a tickle of fluid dribble on his stomach.

"Goddamn but I love you wantin' it," Kiba said, head shifting as he looked down. "That perfect cock 'a yours is beggin' me for it."

Mouth numb, Gaara nodded and froze when he figured out he was agreeing. By then it was too late, and Kiba's chuckle made Gaara's insides melt.

"Good, baby, good," Kiba husked, and Gaara held his breath and heard his pulse reach roaring fever pitch. The Inuzuka moved down Gaara's body with a wet, rasping lick to Gaara's abused nipple. A soft cry escaped Gaara's lips and Kiba's breath blew over the dampness on Gaara's skin. There was time enough to tense while Kiba's hand circled Gaara's base. Blue-green eyes flew wide and stared at nothing as Kiba's tongue teased around the head of Gaara's cock. The pleasure felt alien: strange, terrifying, wonderful. He couldn't remember the last time anyone had done this; it'd been too long and was buried under too many memories.

Gaara had the chance to think he wasn't sure if he'd ever gotten blown in circumstances where he wanted it so badly he couldn't even say the words, give the order, agree to the request, and then his brain fritzed as heat and pressure engulfed him. He thought the hand job had been good; the dreams that made Gaara wake up in the middle of the night and jack off to find slumber and solace were constant reminders of just how good.

But as Kiba found a fast rhythm -- lips tight, tongue mobile, and teeth sometimes dragging on the slide back up to crown -- Gaara cried out, shocked and unrestrained.

"Oh, God…" Gaara yelled in time to Kiba's bobbing head. "Oh fuck…oh shit…Kiba!"

The answering groan was cut off as Kiba swallowed Gaara deeply, and Gaara lost track of what the hell Kiba did after that. He flexed his hands in the belt trap, his hips bucked, and Gaara tried to roll on the bed. He didn't know why -- there was no space for reason when sensation crowded it out -- but some part of him screamed in desire for more and the desire to get away. The confusion hurt, but Kiba's mouth made it go away. The Inuzuka fought Gaara back down, rolled and worked with Gaara's arching, dancing body. The jeans restricted Gaara's legs, and he turned his head into his arm as Kiba's vice-like grip on his hips pressed him into the bed. It'd only been seconds that would fill entire nights in reverent memory, but Gaara felt his thighs tighten, his balls contract, his asshole clench.

"Oh," Gaara whimpered, helpless and small against the onslaught. He trembled, and Kiba's hand joined his mouth, searching relentlessly for endgame. Mouth on the head, tongue flicking the underside, fingers stroking, Kiba groaned and squeezed Gaara's hip. The redhead felt it like encouragement, and when Kiba let go to drag the back of his hand down Gaara's side in a gentle sweep at total odds with what Kiba did with his other hand and with his mouth, the tenderness was Gaara's unmaking.

Gaara's head thrashed from side to side, his teeth bit into the flesh of his arm, and he came with a loud, muffled yell that rose and fell with the waves of unforgiving bliss. Kiba swallowed with hungry, grunting noises, and Gaara shook all over and cried out again when sensation became too much.

Breathing amplified by the mattress against his cheek and ear, Gaara gasped and the bed spun like a top in the middle of the room. Gaara shivered while he tried to figure out gravity. Lips pressed to his hipbone, hands rid him of clothing, and the mattress shifted as Kiba got the top cover away from the head of the bed and wrapped it over the other man. Gaara felt the soft coverlet settle over him, brushing his naked body in a caress. Gaara blinked, slowly, and watched Kiba lay down next to him, the blanket cocooning as Kiba tugged it tighter. Moving onto his side to face Kiba, Gaara scrubbed at his chin to wipe it clear of dried blood. He swallowed on a thick throat and curled in on himself, bound arms and hands tucked in to his chest. Kiba stroked Gaara's arm, and he made a quiet noise of protest when the redhead got himself out of the belt restraint with relative ease.

"Let me get--" Kiba said, reaching.

Gaara shook his head, jerked away, and tossed the belt aside. Fingers brushed back sweaty red hair, and Gaara shivered. He wanted to ask Kiba to keep doing that because it felt so strangely good, but Kiba didn't need Gaara to say the words. Kiba's fingers raked through Gaara's hair, the only touch the redhead would allow him.

Gaara didn't know how long they lay there; Gaara with obscured gaze and Kiba with undemanding presence. Much like after the tryst at Bliss, Gaara's mind hummed with blank buzz, and he didn't want to come back to himself. That meant thinking, worrying about everything, nothing, and all points in between. That depth of confusion made him feel sick, and he shifted on the bed. Kiba started to tuck the blanket around him, and Gaara reached to catch Kiba's wrist. Gaara stared at his hand like it wasn't connected to his body and acted on its own accord. Kiba didn't fight Gaara, say anything, or move, and slowly, Gaara unwound to straighten on the bed. Even slower, he looked up, met the Inuzuka's curiously tender gaze with eyes that asked unspoken questions and a body that tilted forward in hesitant inquiry.

"Yeah," Kiba said, nodding, his voice low and rough. Cautiously, Kiba shifted closer to Gaara. He bent one arm in a makeshift pillow, the other still in Gaara's grasp and making no move to undo it. It was dim in the room, but Gaara saw the gleam of Kiba's eyes as they searched his face.

What am I doing?

Ignoring the question, Gaara let go of the Inuzuka's wrist and reached for the last three snaps of Kiba's shirt. He wanted to see and touch, so he would undo the shirt.That was what he was doing. His movements were halting as Gaara waited for something within him to complain; as he waited for old wounds to open up or old fears to rear their heads.

But there was nothing; just Gaara's fingers on fabric and then the slide of cotton over skin as Gaara pushed back the shirt. Gaara put a hand on Kiba's chest; felt the hot skin and the heart pounding therein.

"Oh," Gaara whispered.

"Please…" Kiba said, and Gaara's eyes flicked to see Kiba's face laid bare in need and something like wonderment.

"Please?" Gaara rasped.

Kiba hesitated, and that threw Gaara. The Inuzuka didn't back down or shy away from anything that Gaara could tell, and he frowned.

"Want yer touch," Kiba said softly. "Fuck, Gaara, please don't stop…"

Gaara didn't answer, but his hand shifted to cover a pectoral that flexed and jumped under Gaara's hand. Kiba wasn't as large as Jody, but he was twice Gaara's size, and Gaara let his hand slipping over Kiba's skin intoxicate him. He let it wash away the worry that at any moment Gaara would wake up and need to kill something or someone, and he concentrated on the texture of skin, hair, and moisture.

Kiba shuddered, sighed, and rolled with Gaara's hand, making the redhead's lips part. He looked up at Kiba's face, saw lowered lids and a dazed expression, and experimentally, Gaara let his fingers trail to Kiba's nipple. He pinched and pulled without pause, and Kiba's mouth formed a silent, "Ah," face crumpling.

"Tell me why," Gaara said so quietly he wasn't sure he spoke for a moment; thought maybe the words were in his mind.

"Because I want you," Kiba answered. "So damned bad…" He gasped as Gaara pinched skin harder. "Never…never thought…" Kiba's eyes closed, face in a grimace that Gaara read as pleasurable, and Gaara stared at the man in his bed who so obviously ached for him. That meant something. Something vital, nearly tangible, and understanding came closer and crackled in the air: became entangled with the way Kiba looked, smelled, felt, tasted.

Needing more, Gaara reached down and began to undo Kiba's jeans. The Inzuka's breath picked up speed, and his head turned slightly toward his arm and the mattress. He looked fragile, and that was fascinating, enticing, and almost…

"Beautiful," Gaara said.

Jade-dark eyes snapped open and the look on Kiba's face was so raw it slipped through the bars of the cage Gaara kept around his most vulnerable organ. They stared at one another, and the sound of the zipper's teeth unlocking was loud in Gaara's ears, and he watched Kiba nibble his lower lip while Gaara's hand pushed aside clothing. He felt Kiba shift and tremble, and Gaara shook his head. Kiba swallowed, and when Gaara's touch found the silken heat of Kiba's cock, the Inuzuka began to breathe in fragmented, broken gasps that stuttered on the way out and held after he sucked back in.

"Please, oh God please…"

Gaara's eyes widened. This wasn't a seldom-returned favor in a bed usually left cold after needs were met with perfunctory touch that culminated in cash on the nightstand. Kiba wasn't a begging sub on the floor of Haze. Kiba was here on his own free will, asked for what he wanted, and the plea in his voice lacked artifice, fear, or calculation.

"Fascinating," Gaara murmured, and he freed Kiba's length and stroked from balls to crown, and the Inuzuka moaned a sigh. Kiba reached for him; pulled them closer. Kiba's hips moved to Gaara's rhythm, the man's breath caught when Gaara wet down his hand with saliva and returned palm to cock, pulling low sounds of want and need from Kiba's lips. The Inzuka's eyes were open, and he looked at Gaara, noses nearly brushing in the proximity. His hand clutched Gaara's bare hip, fingertips digging, and he choked on a noise when Gaara lightened his touch, moved his fist to the head, and slicked his thumb with pre-cum.

"Gaara," Kiba strangled, but Gaara silenced Kiba when he began tenderly stroking the webbing of connective tissue linking shaft to crown. Kiba's eyes got wider, and he pushed into the touch, seeking more.

"Please…can I…" Kiba cut himself off and brushed his lips over Gaara's, shoulders shaking. Gaara opened his mouth and let Kiba kiss and tongue him, and a low noise bubbled up and escaped Gaara's mouth to be swallowed by Kiba's. The cock in Gaara's hand dribbled wetness that added to the glide, and the shock of how much Kiba wanted him -- wanted this with him -- made Gaara hurt in ways he didn't want to stop.

"Shit, Gaara," Kiba hissed over the redhead's swollen lips. "I can't…yer gonna…nnnhg…fuck…"

"I want to see you come," Gaara said, voice husky as he spoke the simple truth.

"Oh, fuck…fuck…fuck…" Kiba whispered the curses through clenched teeth, eyes squeezed tightly shut before they flew wide. The desperation there made Gaara change his strokes to long, fast, and firm over the entirety of Kiba's length, and the Inuzuka stopped speaking and breathing for a frozen handful of thudding heartbeats.

"Gaara." The word was a near-unintelligible moan, and Kiba spilled over Gaara's fist, sprayed hot against Gaara's forearm and stomach, and quaked with his ending, gaze unseeing in the gray darkness of Gaara's bedroom.

With a soft noise that hinted of affection, Gaara rode the waves with Kiba and at long last withdrew his hand, wiping it casually on the covers. The Inuzuka grabbed Gaara and pulled him close to bury Kiba's face in Gaara's neck. He held Gaara tightly, still trembling and breathing hard, and Gaara acted on instinct to return the embrace. The force of Kiba's need and reaction made Gaara feel stripped of a layer of skin, and he stroked Kiba's back, clutched at the shirt, and made a protesting sound when Kiba pulled away.

"Let's just…" Kiba kissed Gaara's cheek, fast and easy and like he did it all the time. Kiba bodily moved Gaara, the sensation making the redhead feel small and weak, but he didn't complain. Instead he worked with Kiba to get the blanket turned down and crawled with the other man to settle beneath it, heads on pillows.

"C'mere, sweetheart," Kiba said, pulling Gaara closer.

"Don't call me that." The words were thin, muffled by Kiba's chest against Gaara's face. The Inuzuka still smelled too good, and darkness started to fade the edges of Gaara's vision. He was shocked by that for an instant -- that sleep could come without being dragged from dungeons and forced into compliance.

"Learn t'deal," Kiba muttered, drowsy and content.

"Damnable…man…" Gaara breathed, shuddering hard and then relaxing within the scarily comforting confines of Kiba's arms.

"Love you, too, sweetheart."

Gaara pretended he didn't hear the words, and together the men rested.

~*~
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Rhythm & Bruise: Gaara's Story