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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
- 19
- 20
- 21
Weightlessness made Gaara dizzy and the world pitched. Kiba cursed under his breath as he nearly toppled before standing with Gaara pressed against him. Gaara said nothing, trusting beyond reason that Kiba would not let them fall, and if he did, then Gaara wouldn't mind.
Footsteps, breathing, a shift and kiss to Gaara's hair. "Door," Kiba warned, and Gaara clung harder as hinges creaked. Cat meowed with a question mark at the end, and Gaara gasped with lungs he didn't know ached for air until his body made them work on its own accord.
"Watch out, Cat," Kiba muttered, and Gaara melted at the tenderness in the gritty voice. He couldn't think of a thing to say or do, didn't know if he was even supposed to speak or act, and he put a fist against his swollen mouth, nibbling on raw skin. The world was blessedly dark and quiet behind his eyelids, Kiba smelled like sweat, pool water, and earth, and the chest against Gaara's cheek was firm, solid, comforting. It was more than enough.
Movement, a click of light switch, and Gaara must have made a noise because Kiba crooned gentle nonsense. A moment of confusion flared in Gaara. They were no longer walking, but the world still swayed.
Rocking. He's swinging me back and forth... like a…
"Hammock," Gaara whispered.
"Hm?" Kiba intoned, and lips brushed against Gaara's ear. Gaara tried to shrink in on himself in something that felt like embarrassment. He worried for no logical reason at all, but Kiba didn't reprimand him. Kiba didn't demand explanation or more of Gaara's runaway mouth. Instead, strong arms squeezed Gaara in a terribly awkward hug, and Gaara went limp in relief.
"Can ya hear me, baby?" Kiba asked, and Gaara thought about telling Kiba that of everything that ached or hurt on his person, Gaara's ears were two things that felt just fine.
"Yeah," Gaara croaked. His throat and chest roared in the dull flame of dwindling campfire.
"Good. Here's what I'm gonna do: I need to set ya down and get the shower started. Yer shiverin' pretty bad, and we're both pretty cut up."
For a moment, the urge to die consumed Gaara because Kiba was injured and it was all Gaara's fault. He didn't recognize the quiet sound he made, but he understood burning eyes and dampening cheeks.
"Sh," Kiba whispered. "Listen to me. Just hear me like nothin' else matters, okay?"
Gaara nodded: that he could do. That made sense. And if it would help Kiba or make the man--
Happy.
Thoughts derailed, logic vanished, and Gaara struggled back to obedience.
"I've got ya, sweetheart," Kiba said. Warmth flooded Gaara, he shuddered, and Kiba hitched Gaara higher. Minute trembling told Gaara that Kiba's muscles were at their limits, and concern became the new dominant force within Gaara's being.
"Got all of ya. But I'm worried 'bout shock, and yer skin's freezin'. I'll go slow, don't try to do anythin' on yer own. Let me hold ya."
"Okay," Gaara mumbled, and the sick-twist of gravity was made distant by Gaara's efforts to understand why he felt so small and helpless and useless but also big and meaningful and important. He got that doing exactly as Kiba asked made it better -- made him feel more special and less stupid. So he let the Inuzuka set him down, let Kiba steady Gaara and take all his weight, and Gaara buried his forehead against Kiba's sternum as the sound of rushing water filled his ears.
"Yer doin' great, baby. Just hang on a little longer."
Gaara shivered again, but it had nothing to do with the numbness of limb or the aftermath of chaos and had everything to do with how good Kiba felt. Sanity embodied, understanding incarnate, the missing link to Gaara's everything who was kind and brave and strong enough to exist. Dimly, Gaara remembered fighting, struggling, hating, fearing, and his mind turned away from those screaming harpies like bad dogs--
Vince in the window. A flash of gold caps. Death of the Knight's black stallion.
-- left in cages. There was no way to enumerate all of Gaara's places and points of pain, but the desire to try to show Kiba that the man filled Gaara's cracks consumed him. Gaara needed to tell Kiba some things because any second now and all of this would vanish like the only good dream Gaara ever had. He had to--
"Talk," Gaara croaked as Kiba checked the water's temperature.
"Sure, baby," Kiba answered, and Gaara frowned and then got distracted as a flesh-and-blood vise lifted him over the lip of the shower door, placed him on tile, and maneuvered Gaara under a torrent of liquid heat.
"I know, I know," Kiba soothed. "It feels too hot, but I swear it's lukewarm." Adjustment, tipping, the quiet thump of knob turning. "Gonna leave the clothes on 'til yer more stable. We'll get 'em off, though. Wash out the scrapes. I'll get ya some ice for the jaw, and damn… I'm sorry 'bout that. Just didn't know what t'do. Was real scared there for a second or two." An effort of a chuckle, hands in Gaara's hair, against his back, and Gaara gulped air around rivulets of water that made him stiffen and whine in drowning memory.
"Shit." Kiba inched backward, Gaara gasped in relief, and resettled.
"Sorry, Gaara, I didn't fuckin' think about--"
"I need to talk," Gaara finally managed to clarify around a cough and a clearing of his throat.
"Anythin' ya feel ya need to do is all right by me, baby, but it's okay if ya just want to rest for a--"
"No."
"Ah, there's the stubborn man I know." Kiba laughed, and the sentiment and sound were so alien for the circumstance that Gaara opened his eyes, pulled back, and stared at the Inuzuka. The affection in the other man's gaze was so pure and naked that Gaara touched the edge of Kiba's mouth with questing fingertips. It wasn't until Kiba sighed and let Gaara stand more on his own that Gaara remembered looming nightmares. He fisted his hand, glancing around the shower as fast as his upset equilibrium would allow.
"Just us?" Kiba asked, holding tighter as Gaara inspected fogging glass, dewing walls, wet bench, shampoo bottles, and single high window before nodding.
"Good. Gettin' warmer?"
Another nod, and butterflies tickled Gaara's insides when Kiba's rumbling sound of relief was pleased. "Let's sit ya down and get ya out of the…" Kiba paused.
"What?" Gaara asked, touching stubbled jaw in a fascinating tactile exploration.
"I just want ya warm, baby. I don't want anythin' else. Understand?"
The word rebounded around Gaara's brain, and it took a moment for Gaara to respond. "You want to take off my clothes."
"Yeah…"
Kiba's nerves didn't make any sense. "We're in the shower."
"Yeah…"
The smirk made Gaara's pulse crazily quicken. So tired, so overdone, and Gaara was such an extreme version of self, but still: seeing the pointed teeth and jade-fleck eyes made Gaara's existence narrow to a raw place full of unsated need. "And you're…" Gaara drew a palm over Kiba's mouth, felt a kiss. He slid to cover Kiba's heartbeat, felt the pace. Scrapes and abrasions and bruises covered Kiba's arms, shoulders, cheek, and flank. "You don't hurt me," Gaara said, feeling too much about Kiba's state to wrestle the tide of emotions for control.
"Gaara…" Kiba spoke the word like a prayer. Like this shower was a shrine and Gaara was a god invoked. Gaara trembled in the focus of such veneration, Kiba kissed Gaara's forehead between the brows, and slowly turned them until Gaara backed toward the bench. He sat and watched tanned abdominal muscles play until his sopping shirt blocked his view. He leaned against the wall and counted Kiba's hurts while sure hands undid his jeans and worked them down in a tug-of-war. Clothing went into a pile, water circled the drain and woke up nerves, flesh, and the body's quest for healing.
Kiba's expression changed to suffering and then chagrin. "Damn," he said as he knelt, and Gaara got that Kiba felt bad for Gaara's bloody-and-banged knees. Got it even more when Kiba bent to kiss around the wounds, reached for soap, and flashed unspoken apology with eyes and brow before starting to rinse Gaara clean.
The urge to speak or do or maybe both bubbled and broke over Gaara's tongue. "You save me."
"I did. Yeah." Kiba's shoulders hunched, Gaara's nerves and veins and arteries sang with the pain of clotting and closing, and Gaara stroked through Kiba's hair: thick, soft, wet, amazing. Gaara did it again and again until Kiba looked up though he kept stroking Gaara's shins to wash away dirt.
"No," Gaara objected, but his voice came out so softly he feared Kiba didn't hear. "No," Gaara said again, louder as he sat up. So tired, but he could put it aside. So terrified but it was unfounded, and Gaara could let it go. The importance of explaining and acting in this moment outweighed all other pivotal moments past, and Gaara was glad he didn't know why. Because if he did, he wouldn't be able to do a damned thing, and that would be worse than an eternity of torture at the hands of embodied failures.
"Wha--" Kiba began, and Gaara cradled Kiba's face in his hands, thumbs over Kiba's mouth. The Inuzuka didn't fight, resist, or try to undo Gaara's hold, and feather flicks of sensation spread in faint lines on Gaara's bare thighs. Kiba petted and waited, and Gaara forgot everything except the shade of Kiba's skin, the dark patches under Kiba's eyes, the give of mobile, tender, split flesh. Gaara breathed faster and harder as he stroked a hesitant thumb over a tiny wound, toyed with the slick, warm, moistened inner lip until Kiba trembled under Gaara's attentions.
"Real," Gaara whispered in awe. "Here. Alive. With me. Because you…"
Kiba pleaded with Gaara without words or action, and Gaara was blinded until he blinked away tears. "Love…?" The rest wouldn't come out, Gaara begged Kiba to hear him through sheer willpower, and the answer to the unspoken was a hand against Gaara's cheek, a sound of affirmation, a body that inched nearer to his. Pleasure, rapture, and want erupted, and Gaara paid attention because somewhere in the mix was the cipher to the riddle of What Next and How Do I Tell Him.
"And so you didn't save me once," Gaara explained, hoping it was the start to the rest of a speech. But it was so difficult to concentrate through the silence of his mind, so hard to fight against the dazed, lazy peace of shower and dual existence. "You save me over and over."
At first Gaara thought he cried again when the green he longed to get lost in grew wet, and a wedge of irritation tried to worm its way into Gaara's soul. But when Kiba's chest heaved in an uneven stutter, when Kiba caught Gaara's thumb in a kiss that scrunched Kiba's eyes closed, and when Kiba's rickety gasp echoed, everything stopped. Time stood still, the steam and water rippled and rushed around them, and Gaara kissed Kiba with every ounce of love that Gaara craved to have, harbor, and then return to a heart that beat in time with his own.
"Gaara," Kiba whispered, blinking before kissing Gaara again and again. "We… I… ooh…"
Kiba cupped the base of Gaara's skull, careful over the knot left by the crack to pavement. Kiba's lips were tender, but the soft moans that accompanied every press forced Gaara to pull them closer, to wrap his arms around the other man, to need more than he could ever adequately describe or request.
"Shouldn't," Kiba gasped, standing and groaning when Gaara stood, too, went on tiptoe so Gaara didn't relinquish any hard-won proximity. The water was too hot, now, the steam almost unbearable, and all Gaara could think about were the words join and inside and love and now.
"Don't care," Gaara rasped, kissing in rapid fire over Kiba's jaw, neck, chest. Kiba's breathing hitched, and he caressed Gaara's back, fingernails dragging.
"I do. We're a fuckin' mess, baby, and--"
"Need," Gaara said around Kiba's nipple, and he studied the fear that flared in the back of his mind. It was born from the notion that Kiba might not do this. Might finally back down or delay when at long last Gaara didn't have a damned defense left. With a spark of understanding that made Gaara whimper, he knew that if Kiba didn't step in to fill the barrier-forsaken void, Gaara would never be able to return to this moment again.
The idea of never wanting Kiba with such a keen, clean edge and never being able to allow Kiba's essence to encircle him, hold him, keep him made Gaara gnash his teeth, wind fingers in Kiba's wet hair, and force their eyes to meet. "Need you," Gaara said, watching a hunger that eclipsed his own slowly rise in Kiba's gaze. "Kiba. Be my…" Gaara swallowed and let the words form. "Lover? Plea--"
Gaara didn't get to finish because Kiba hoisted him up, and Gaara locked his legs around Kiba's waist. Good. This was good. Kiba heard him, Kiba would let Gaara do this, Kiba wanted, and Gaara clutched at the other man. Mouths slipped and slid, tongues danced, and Kiba slapped at the wall until the showerhead shut off. The door banged open from the force of Kiba's knee, and Gaara got entirely distracted by the sensation of being cradled against damp skin. Cool air made Gaara shiver, Kiba attacked Gaara's throat while maneuvering them toward the counter, and Gaara traced lacerations and scrapes on Kiba's back. He felt a split-second of guilt nag at him, but fingertips dug into the flesh of Gaara's ass, and his cock stirred.
"Like it," Gaara breathed, and Kiba sat Gaara down next to the sink.
"Tell me," Kiba ordered over Gaara's lips, and Gaara shuddered, reclining until his head hit the wall.
"You around me," Gaara said, watching lights flash behind his closed lids as Kiba kissed his torso. "Mouth…"
"Like this?" Kiba asked and sucked at the skin just under the head of Gaara's cock. Gaara scrambled for purchase on the counter and on Kiba, eyes flying open to watch Kiba trace contours with his tongue. Gaara's pulse tripped, making vision blur in time to an eager heartbeat.
"Yes," Gaara said, groaning, writhing, struggling while Kiba tasted his nuts, nipped at the juncture of leg and body, and lapped back up to Gaara's head. "Ooh, Kiba… yes… that… I, God, yes…"
Kiba made a noise composed equally of growl and sigh before covering Gaara's dick with a tight ring of lip and swallowing him down to balls. The last vestiges of coherent anything left Gaara, and he rolled with Kiba's slow rhythm. He didn't care what he said, what sounds he made, or how it all rebounded off the bathroom walls and came back to him with startling clarity. He didn't care that his back ached with the angle, that his jaw was stiff, that the corners of his eyes would not quit leaking, or that he shook so hard Kiba had to steady him with sure hands.
There was only Kiba. There was always Kiba. There would be, forevermore, Kiba.
"Please," Gaara begged, when the torrent of emotion threatened to crush him, when he had to keep going but had no idea how to get there. "Please, please… please!"
Kiba came off Gaara with a sweet, slick, pop and gathered Gaara close. "C'mon, sweetheart," he said, picking Gaara up again and waiting until Gaara rested head on Kiba's shoulder and locked ankles behind his back. "Get ya t'bed."
"D-don't…" Gaara tried, and buried his face against Kiba's throat, tasted the skin and bit. He delighted in Kiba's tightening embrace, in the soft curse.
"Don’t what, baby?" Kiba asked, and in the tone Gaara could identify affection, concern… love. Not pity, not denial, not condemnation. Only love as Kiba placed Gaara on the sheets. Only love as Kiba settled over him, cupped Gaara's cheek, kissed his upper lip.
"N-need," Gaara said, insides twisting with the confession and terror rising like ice picks through the warmth that Kiba inspired, kindled, and spread within him.
"Talk t'me," Kiba commanded, and the deep notes in the voice resonated and plucked something so deeply seated in Gaara that it took long, dragging seconds before Gaara could find thought.
"I want you," Gaara said, and the vision of Kiba above him, moving, moaning, unwavering and wanting forced a quiet cry from Gaara's lungs. He kissed Kiba, dragged the Inuzuka against him, bare skin on bare skin, and it felt so perfect, so right, so vital that Gaara wanted to scream.
"Told you," Kiba said, rolling them together, reaching between and stroking. "Here for ya anytime ya need it." A long pull, a press of weight, the glimpse of Kiba's sharp incisor and heavy eyelids. "Ain't gonna stop." Gaara heard his own garbled gasp and let the next wave of fevered fortune swell, take him, drag him down, but something heavy rested against his chest. Something cold. Something old. Something--
Gaara pitched to one side, and slammed a hand against Kiba's chest. In the slow motion of tunnel vision the Saint's medallion swung from Kiba's neck, catching the barest glimmers of light in the dark room and throwing them at Gaara to mock him. Kiba stayed still, breathing hard, and Gaara snarled at the evidence of a crippled past. He grabbed the hated rough-hewn metal in a fist, ripped it to the sound of unlinking chain, and threw it away. He heard it hit the wall, and he sighed. Gaara met Kiba's wide eyes, and arched up to kiss between them.
"No," Gaara said in a hushed voice. "I want you… in me."
Kiba licked his lips, started to shake his head, and Gaara caught his face. "Yes," Gaara insisted, wrapping legs around Kiba and squeezing until Kiba gasped for oxygen. "Because it's good. Because it'll feel… good." Gaara yanked Kiba's head closer, bit the Inuzuka's earlobe and felt a surge of dawning power at the sound the nip-undulate-slide of bodies and wills pulled from the other man.
"Because I have to show you…" Gaara broke off to buck into the tight fist around his cock that suddenly stroked with vicious intent.
"Show me?" Kiba repeated, and the rasp was back. The voice that hunted and haunted and humbled Gaara into wanting to do anything, everything to keep Kiba speaking, teasing, taking.
"That I'm here. This is me. That you… I'm…" Gaara hissed when the words wouldn't obey, and he tugged at the shorter hairs at Kiba's nape. A grunt, a breathy sob, and who made which Gaara didn't know. But he knew Kiba stroked until Gaara thought he'd come and then slowed to make Gaara whine. He knew Kiba's teeth carved more marks onto his skin, and Gaara thrashed in delight that he made clear with shouted praise.
And he knew he had to explain that the pool was a death he no longer wanted and that the shower was a rinse in clarity the likes of which Gaara had never experienced. It didn’t matter if the Inuzuka already understood. It mattered that Gaara could finally speak the truth.
"Kiba…" Gaara groaned, body reacting as the damnable man's palm slicked Gaara with his own pre-come and kept the pace erratic but desperate. He grappled until he got a hand cupping Kiba's balls, squeezing. Kiba's harsh blast of air did things to Gaara's mind and cock that were delightful in the delirium they inspired, and Gaara sucked the cry from Kiba's mouth.
"Do this now," Gaara said, a plea, a command, a path to together. "And you stay here. And so will I."
A strangled pant, a blur of kisses, a span of frantic touches, and Kiba's eyes were wet when he levered himself up over Gaara, sweating, hair a mussed halo, tattoos shimmering. "Where's your--"
"Drawer."
Kiba reached for provisions, and Gaara shifted on the bed until face-to-face with Kiba's cock. Long, full, tan and reddened at the exposed head, and Gaara's asshole contracted, his dick throbbed, and he wrapped lips and tongue around what he wanted without a thought or care in the world except for his own desires.
"Mmmngah -- shit!" Kiba called. Something fluttered behind Gaara's breastbone, and the room started to spin as a hand clawed at his neck and hair. The flesh stretching his jaw pulsed, pain soared in a soothing symphony as Kiba trapped Gaara's head in strong hands, and Gaara jerked when Kiba pistoned into his mouth without preamble.
"Fuck. Yeah." The snarl unmade any portions of Gaara that struggled, and he clawed at Kiba's hip until the angle allowed for air. His raw throat felt stripped, his mind buzzed like a hive of a million bees, and Kiba's grunts of delight became the only tenuous connection Gaara had to reality while the Inuzuka fucked his mouth.
When Kiba withdrew and let him go, Gaara fell back on the bed. Kiba followed, covering Gaara and kissing him with butterfly brushes to Gaara's swollen lips. Fingertips trailed down Gaara's flank, a snick of cap made something sizzle at the base of his spine, and Gaara tossed his head to the side. The cool sheet felt like a balm, and Kiba traced the rim of his ear with a questing tongue tip.
"You here like this is better than the best dream I ever had," Kiba said, and knuckles skimmed from the inside of Gaara's knee to stop at mid inner thigh. "Ya gonna let me help ya feel good, baby? Let me touch you?"
Gaara couldn't answer, couldn't rise above the ticklish sensation on his skin that patiently petted. Gaara's arm flew around Kiba's neck, clung in an unforgiving brace, and he spread his leg in permission. The limb felt so heavy, made of lead and stone, but the rumble of approval in his ear made the rest of Gaara feel lighter than air.
"Reach down for yer cock, sweetheart," Kiba purred, and Gaara could only comply. He grabbed himself and couldn't tell if the thud of his pulse was in his dick or hand or ears or all of the above.
"Good, baby, good," Kiba crooned, and Gaara's eyes flew open when gentle, slick fingers pressed over his asshole. He stared at the line of wall meeting ceiling while Kiba began to massage around the entrance; slippery and consuming.
"Stroke for me," Kiba ordered and Gaara pumped himself from balls to crown. "Slow," Kiba dictated, and Gaara kept the pace to a crawl. He heard himself whine, his cock, which had gone softer in anticipation of pain, began to harden under his ministrations. And still Kiba didn't enter him. Instead, Kiba circled, pressing more firmly with each pass.
"Yer flutterin' for me," Kiba said, nearly a groan. "Feel okay?"
Gaara dipped his chin in a nod, sight losing focus as Kiba's voice flooded his ears, Kiba's scent filled his nose, Kiba's touch narrowed his world, and Kiba's care warmed his core.
"When I say, yer gonna tease yer head, and I'm gonna slide inside. Just one 'til I know yer dyin' for two." Lips kissed Gaara's jaw line, Gaara couldn't catch his breath, and he nodded again in assent.
"Perfect, sweetheart. I got ya."
"I know," Gaara whispered, and he thought he should hate himself for the tear that trickled down his nose, but it seemed like too much effort. Especially when Kiba kissed it away.
"Now," Kiba said, and Gaara stroked up with a ring of thumb and forefinger to concentrate the touch where Kiba wanted it. Gaara's chest heaved against Kiba's weight, and the universe snap-focused on the sensation of Kiba's finger moving within him. A tinge of burn, a shock of pleasure, and Gaara's lungs forced a ragged breath through his mouth.
"Wish you could see yerself," Kiba said, and Gaara managed to blink at Kiba, meet the man's eyes and observe the reverence there. "So beautiful it hurts."
Gaara started to deny it, started to say something, but Kiba shushed him and the finger did a quick in-out-in. "Lemme see ya play with yer balls," Kiba said.
"Nngh…" Gaara let go of his cock, cupped and rolled and squeezed, and Kiba's praise was a low groan. It danced down Gaara's backbone, ignited sparks that threatened to fry his nerves, and kept Gaara in the place where there was only Kiba and the Inuzuka's ability to overwhelm all else.
"Oh yeah… yer ready for two."
Gaara felt Kiba's skin give beneath the press of his nails, and for reasons that Gaara didn't understand, it distracted him in the frozen seconds of time it took for Kiba to withdraw and re-enter with two fingers that sank deeply without pause.
"Oh." Gaara shook, and a part of his mind observed that the motion was entirely out of his control. "Oh. God." The fingers pressed against his insides, Kiba murmured a low hum of wicked satisfaction, and Gaara called out a single, sharp syllable.
"Hand on yer dick, baby," Kiba ordered, starting to move, and Gaara fisted himself. The slow strokes made his entire body tense, arch, dance, and half of him reveled in it while the other half watched in amazement. Over and over Kiba took him, and there was no pain, no revulsion, no nightmare… Only stretching, sizzling, ball-tightening seraphic sensation.
"Stop," Kiba barked when Gaara's body reached a rest before a crescendo. "Arms around me."
Gaara let go of himself, groaning at the loss but willingly wrapping around Kiba in a sweaty clutch. Quickly the thrust of Kiba's fingers turned into a tease, something that made Gaara die in the ache for more.
"Nn… harder…" Gaara hissed. "Faster. Kiba? Please…"
Kiba made a guttural, pained sound, and the pace and force increased. Gaara rolled and tensed as he struggled for some semblance of sanity.
"More," Gaara called. "Like it, need it… Fuck… I… can't… just…" The covers were slippery under his back, he caught a crazy inverted view of the headboard, felt teeth over the pounding pulse of his throat, and Kiba's fingers left him. The bereft, abandoned, openness made Gaara twist, but he had to let go of the other man when Kiba sat up.
"Watch," Kiba said, and Gaara almost drowned in the intensity of Kiba's expression. The Inuzuka tore a condom packet open with a rip of teeth, and Gaara followed wide palms and graceful fingers, staring while Kiba got latex over an angry erection. Kiba's hand caught and pushed on the back of Gaara's thigh while coating himself with more lube, and the motion of that capable, practiced touch made Gaara's mouth go dry.
"Legs over my shoulders," Kiba directed, not bothering to wait while Gaara worked out the mechanics. Kiba hooked Gaara's knees into place, bent until he hovered over Gaara's face, and the world tilted on its axis when the head of Kiba's cock pressed against Gaara's body.
"So I can kiss you," Kiba murmured, demonstrating, and Gaara didn't know what he said or did that made Kiba's eyes soften, but he was grateful for it.
"Tell me who's lovin' you, baby."
"You…" Gaara began but choked when Kiba started to push inside, spoke around deep draws of air that refused to fill his lungs. "Ki… ba… oooh Christ..."
Deeper, deeper, slow and steady, and then a quick withdraw and thrust toward depth Gaara didn't even know he fucking had. It was not the first time by any means, but there'd never been an instance when his body's reshaping merely made him long for more and didn't make him wish for destruction. Gaara whimpered, and Kiba kissed him, sweet and trembling.
"Ooh…" Gaara couldn't move, he couldn't help, but he could feel and he could take and Gaara shouted his revelation of the good, called out his triumph over terrors past, and cursed his acceptance of present needs.
"Fuck… Kiba…you're huge…"
Gaara couldn't tell if Kiba laughed or moaned, maybe both, but then his mouth covered Gaara's, he rocked out and in, and it ceased to matter. Everything hurt and then everything morphed into friction fire, and Gaara could barely muster the brain cells to kiss Kiba back. He fell in a tumble-spiral, down and down as Kiba continued to move, and only Kiba's voice kept him on earth when the heaven that Gaara uncovered by letting go and letting Kiba love him branded him blank, clean, filled.
"Love you," Kiba whispered in time to his rhythm and in between his kisses. "Love you, Gaara."
Rock, sway, drag and slide, and the inferno in Gaara's gut, back, and balls steadily grew. He cried, yelled, called Kiba's name in hope and in vain and knew there was more to be had. Needed there to be. He flexed around the shaft splitting him into two and reshaping him into a beast of uninhibited craving, heard and felt the heaving breath that rushed from Kiba's lungs, and latched onto the back of Kiba's neck with an insistent dig of fingertips.
"More," Gaara growled. "If you're going to fuck me… then fuck. Me."
With widening eyes and a cut-off roar of indignant rage, Kiba bit Gaara on the shoulder, leveraged upright, and found balance. "Demanding… bitch…" he muttered, chest slick and expanding in a fascinating display of muscle and air. He grasped Gaara's thighs, shoved them backward to fold Gaara in half, and rested his weight in a bracing hold that didn’t allow Gaara an inch of give.
"Want it harder, sweetheart?" Kiba slurred with an unkind gleam of teeth, and Gaara moaned as Kiba withdrew, shifted, changed angles until he was positioned directly above Gaara. "Wanna watch me pound yer sweet ass 'til ya beg t'come?"
The words should have inspired anything but the lance of undeniable want that curved Gaara's back in a bow as he tried to meet the tip of Kiba's cock teasing his entrance.
Kiba laughed, and it sent shivers through Gaara. "Hands over yer head, baby."
Gaara reached and grasped the top of the mattress, and Kiba's weight drove resistance and willpower out of him.
"Nice," Kiba praised. "No touchin' that perfect cock 'a yers 'til I'm good 'n ready fer ya t'come."
"Fuck," Gaara said, a tendril of a throaty whisper.
"Sure, baby. Anythin' ya want."
Kiba drove downward with his hips, knocked the wind out of Gaara's body with the startling force of it, and Gaara watched Kiba withdraw nearly all the way before plunging back inside with brutal speed. The position sent Kiba dragging over Gaara's impossibly sensitive prostate, and white tinged the edges of Gaara's vision as Kiba did it again. And again. And--
"Fuck yes!" Gaara yelled with his first full breath, and he groaned around the delicious assault. "God… yes… Kiba… ooooh…"
The only response was a broken snarl, and Gaara couldn't tear his eyes away from the sight of Kiba vanishing within him. He clung to the bed, unable even to thrash in the jolts of a pleasure so fierce that it bordered on pain. Nerves misfired, Gaara's veins were flooded with microscopic screaming demons demanding that this end in a tower of release, and in mere seconds all Gaara could think about was that if he didn't get off soon, he would wink out of existence.
"Have to come," Gaara said in a thready rush. His stomach and chest were streaked with his cock's sticky fluids, sweat poured and coated his skin, his balls were painfully tight, he couldn't stop shaking, and every muscle he had tightened trying to find end game relief. "Kiba… I… have to… need to… oh shit… hell…God!"
Kiba roared something that Gaara registered as an affirmative, and their eyes met. Kiba didn't slow, didn't relent, didn't hesitate, and Gaara saw a set of clenched teeth and a crazed madman living in Kiba, brought to life by Kiba's unquenched lust.
"Do it," Kiba demanded, drops of moisture falling onto Gaara's body below him.
Hand flying to his cock, Gaara stroked just as Kiba let go of one of Gaara's legs. It fell like deadweight onto the bed, and orgasm thunder-rushed Gaara from all sides. His fist flew, he bucked into Kiba's onslaught, and every part of his body shook, tingled, and surrendered to the wracking spasms. Warmth coated his abdomen in ropes, added to the slide, and Gaara ground his jaws on the stuttering whine that tore from him as he started to unwind.
"Oooh," Kiba sigh-groaned, slowing.
"Don't… stop…" Gaara yelled, hand still tugging on his spurting dick. Kiba darkened the air with curses but slammed into Gaara.
"Nnn-ah!" The last thrusts ripped a blade of blinding pleasure through Gaara, and he gave himself a last, evil stroke with a twist to the head. Finally with a noise that Gaara never made in the presence of others, he released his cock and shuddered in the aftershocks.
"Oh my… fucking…" Kiba gasped, stopped, and pulled out. He ripped off the condom and wrapped a palm around his dick. His head went back, tendons stood like steel cords along his neck, his abs danced under heated skin, and Gaara struggled onto elbows.
"Mmmph." Kiba breathed in tremulous, broken pants, and Gaara recognized the pattern of, Oh God, close.
"Kiba," Gaara intoned. He slid to one side, ducked his head, and lapped at Kiba's balls. Kiba's fist fumbled its rhythm, Gaara got lost in the dazed haze of afterglow and the need to see Kiba come, and a warning erupted from Kiba in an unintelligible battle cry. Gaara drew away, gasping as semen hit his chin and landed on his tongue, and Gaara immediately suckled Kiba's cock into his mouth.
"Ohholyfuck," Kiba cursed, and every breath became a soft, stunned, eager wail as Gaara drank Kiba down with thirsty gulps. It was typically bitter, it was vaguely familiar, and it was the best bliss Gaara'd ever known.
When Kiba bent over Gaara, shaking and steadying one hand on his shoulder, Gaara let go and both men collapsed into a heap. Gaara was content not to bother sorting out limbs, blankets, or thoughts, and existence got consumed with the sounds of Kiba's slowing breaths. His tear ducts refused to quit with the waterworks, and he didn't understand that, but he also didn't let it bother him.
Especially not when his shaky breathing made Kiba emit a tender sigh, rearrange them both, and pull Gaara close. "Got ya, sweetheart," Kiba murmured into Gaara's hair.
"You do," Gaara replied, and the truth of the words worked a magic spell that induced relaxation, contentment, and exhaustion.
"Just rest. Ain't goin' nowhere."
"Okay," Gaara agreed, and slumber was upon him just as he heard Kiba whisper:
"Love you. Never lettin' go."
~*~
Gaara woke up comfortable, clean, calm, and in Kiba's arms.
"Hey," Kiba said, brushing Gaara's hair back as Gaara rubbed his eyes. The outdoor lights threw slivers of illumination through the slats in the blinds hanging over the door to the lanai. Gaara didn't answer for a moment, waiting for fallout, the demons of failure, or something bad to crawl out of the darkness.
When he'd counted to sixty and nothing had happened, Gaara went limp. "Hi," he said.
"It's only two-thirty," Kiba said. "Ya slept through the wash down and woke up for the holdin'." He chuckled. "Typical."
Gaara grunted. He began a mental list of pains, found it long and in need of categories, and shifted in search of a more comfortable position.
"Ya hurtin'?"
"Yes," Gaara answered with one eye open to glare at Kiba.
"Don't give me that look," Kiba said with a grin. "Ya asked for it."
"Fuck you."
"Other way 'round, baby."
Gaara groaned, thought about the shotgun under the bed, and sighed.
"Don't ya worry. I'll let ya have yer revenge," Kiba said, kissing Gaara's forehead and crawling out from under the blankets. Gaara didn't think, merely acted, and he stared in confusion at the hand clinging to Kiba's wrist.
"It's okay," Kiba said, pressing their mouths together. Gaara marveled at how natural it felt. How easy. Immediately he relaxed and wondered what would have happened if he had nearly drowned earlier in life.
"Just gettin' some 'a the pain pills I saw in the bathroom. I'll be right back, sweetheart."
Gaara let go, Kiba smiled at him, and Gaara watched the Inuzuka's scratched backside leave the room. Tentatively, he searched his mind and found only the kind of peace that came after being with Kiba. He hurt, yes, and he strangely wanted Kiba as close as possible, but there was no anger, remorse, or horror to be found. He felt none of the turmoil that had forced him into the pool, none of the impotent rage over the events of the last week.
Just existence and the memory of Kiba inside his body still fresh, alive, distracting. Gaara rolled and inhaled the sheets, wadded up a pillow and pressed his face into it. A low laugh interrupted his efforts to imprint more of Kiba on his senses, and Gaara didn’t even turn to confirm it was merely Kiba at his back. The lack of defensive need stunned Gaara, but his examination got derailed when a warm palm petted his arm.
"Anybody ever told ya that yer cute after ya get off?" Kiba asked, and Gaara turned to see the Inuzuka sitting on the edge of the bed holding two white pills and a glass of water.
"No," Gaara answered, sitting up.
"Damn shame," Kiba said as Gaara took the medicine and drained the glass. The swallowing made him aware of his swollen jaw, and he grimaced.
"Yeah," Kiba said, taking the glass and putting it on the nightstand. "Think ya owe me for that, too."
A variety of images came to Gaara's mind about how best to repay Kiba in kind. "Part of my revenge," Gaara said.
Kiba flashed a grin. "Ya flirtin' with me, now?"
Gaara thought about it. "Yes?"
Kiba laughed, and the sound inspired entire gardens of happiness in Gaara's mind. He reached for Kiba, hands on the man's cheeks, and something swirled to settle on his tongue. Words to say, emotions to feel, understanding almost ready to claim. Kiba let Gaara hold on, didn't question or move away or do anything but caress Gaara's arm.
"I…" Gaara began, frowned, and felt everything ebb away like a tide he chased.
"Yeah?" Kiba asked.
"…thank you."
"Anytime, baby." Kiba took both of Gaara's hands in his, kissed each of the palms. "Ya look pretty awake. Gonna go get some ice for that jaw, maybe a bandage or two. Then I hold ya and we sleep, yeah?"
"Yeah," Gaara echoed, and he mapped Kiba's features all over again. Memorized the mole near Kiba's left ear, the shadow of stubble, and he wished there was more light in the room so he could see the exact jade of the eyes he so adored.
"Good." Kiba stood. "Be right back, sweetheart."
Gaara watched Kiba leave, listened for the footfalls on the stairs leading up to the kitchen, and he eased onto his back, hands clasped over his chest. He couldn't remember being so tired, and he allowed his eyelids to droop. The soft thud in the room above him made Gaara's lips twitch, and he touched his own mouth to feel the smile.
Kiba…
Everything felt too good, too easy, and his instincts stirred. They were old and exhausting, but so often useful that Gaara couldn't dismiss them out of hand. Yes, he understood it wouldn't always be this simple. When his mind was clearer, he vowed to work out what to do about the medication he'd been avoiding, about the therapy he knew he still needed, and about the plan he wanted to make so he could be as sane as he got for the savior in his life. He did understand that there was a lot of work ahead of them, but even at the thought of the word "them" Gaara's heart skipped a beat. It made Gaara feel half out of his mind, like he was going an entirely different kind of crazy, but it also felt so damned--
A short slice of air, a pause, a thud.
Gaara went still and ice filled his guts. He thought he knew those sounds, memory nagged, pestered and then screeched, but all Gaara could think about were bleeding angels. He kept his eyes closed, forced himself to breathe deeply through his nose and out his mouth, and prepared for what his sight would show him. He could handle it. He'd coped with far worse.
And it's all right. Kiba's just upstairs.
The thought gave Gaara a new kind of strength, and he turned his head in the darkness, began scanning the room for nightmares when he heard it again--
Sssin-foomp… thud.
Gaara didn't see angels. He didn't see visions. He saw drawn drapes and the shadows in the room shift.
Somebody's outside. Near the pool.
Moving quickly and silently, Gaara slithered away from the point of entry, across the mattress, and onto the floor. He grabbed a pair of discarded pajama pants and put them on, staying in a crouch and listening so hard he thought his eardrums would rupture with the effort. He didn't hear Kiba upstairs. He didn't hear anyone at all.
Gaara rolled to his stomach and grabbed the twelve-gauge from its rack under the bed frame. It was loaded with buck and ball shells, and Gaara kept his eyes on the drapes while ignoring the ammo carton he kept next to the gun. He may or may not have time to reload, would need both hands to fire, and if it took more than five shotgun rounds to cut through the intruders, Gaara was probably fucked.
Thirty seconds after the second dull thud that came from the other side of the windows, Gaara crept over to the curtains. He stayed as flat as possible to the floor, forced his breathing even and slow, and flinched when the third set of sounds came from behind him.
Outside. The lanai. Shit.
As Gaara reached for the drapes, his mind linked that particular series of noises to experience. His pulse spiked, adrenalin slowed time and sharpened his senses, and Gaara pushed aside fabric and peeled down a slat.
A dead man's eyeball was level with Gaara's, and blood pooled in a black corona. The man's eyelid was split, the back of the man's head and most of the man's face was missing, and Gaara counted four broken silver-capped teeth lying a foot away. The man wore black clothing, no body armor, and there was a discarded .357 on the grass nearby. Gaara dropped the blinds and curtain, mind whirling.
There were intruders, but there also appeared to be individuals picking them off with long-ranged rifles. It explained the sounds and the amount of carnage done to the dead guy. He didn't know which side was comprised of people Gaara needed to kill, but he thought it likely that the distance shooters were at least nominally on Gaara's side. Why else waste time killing people attempting to breach Gaara's defenses?
Granted, the dead guy apparently didn't know every piece of glass in Gaara's house was reinforced and could withstand most gunfire even at close range. Gaara tested it himself.
However, if the distance shooters were using fifty caliber rounds and were, in fact, working together with the recently deceased, then taking out the glass and Gaara, himself, wouldn't be a real issue. Since the glass and house were still intact and Gaara was still alive, he had to assume that there were good guys in the field and, by his count, at least three corpses on his property.
Sssin-foomp… thud.
Four, Gaara mouthed, just as the silence cracked with screams and explosions and the hell Gaara knew would eventually come for him broke loose from its bondage to find Gaara in his home.
~*~
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Rhythm & Bruise: Gaara's Story