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Getting Credit	By : sasquatchsnake Category: Naruto > Yaoi - Male/Male Views: 2095 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Naruto, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 8
- 9
A/N: Welp. Since it’s been about a hundred years, you may want to skim over the previous chapters before thrusting into this soft, succulent creation.
Getting Credit
Chapter 9
The world speeds past, a blur of color and sound. I want to shut my eyes, shutter out the onslaught of sensory information. But I need to know where I am, where I’m going. How to get back. We turn sharply, on the opposite side of town from where I live, from where Kiba lives. A flicker of fear sends up bile. I don’t like this.
The roar of the engine rattles my chest.
God, I don’t like this at all.
The helmet is jawless; the wind chills my lips. I try again with Sasuke, his hair whipping my skin as I lean closer. “Really, I have to go. I have to work soon on the other side of town.” I shout it, the wind snatching at my words.
He tilts his head, though he doesn’t turn his face from the road. “Tell me when we get there,” he calls back, his words ripping through the wind’s howl, “I can’t hear you.”
My gut flinches. Best to wait things out then. But I can’t help wondering, does he not hear me or does he not want to?
We tear onto a beautiful road that traces the coastal cliffs. The flavor of rotting seaweed and salt, cold air fills my nose and rips through my clothes. Beyond the passing cliffs of ice plant, the ocean rolls, wrinkled with wind and life, stretching away to where it meets the sky. Hidden waves echo and rush as they sluice over sand and into rocky inlets.
The motorcycle dips onto a side street and slows to a stop a few blocks away from the shoreline. Dismounting gives me the disorienting feeling of stepping off an escalator. I stagger, the world suddenly still.
The suction of the helmet sliding off is a relief. A salty breeze cools my sweaty forehead and damp hair. The motorcycle shudders into silence, the visor clicking in my hands suddenly loud. Sasuke turns toward me and I catch my reflection in his aviators, colorless, distorted. The wind has whipped color into his face. He gestures for me to follow.
Numb, nervous, my untied shoes trace his steps. My thoughts are swirling, my plan of escape shifting into place. I lighten my feet to walk beside him, to lure him into discussion, to excuse myself from this escapade. My nose is almost even with his shoulder when he quickens his pace and leads me down a snaking walkway to a house. I swallow anxiety and follow.
Sasuke’s home is an old fashioned, two-story beach house with horizontal paneling. The garden is a snarl of squat flowering shrubs and the house’s paint is a peeling, pale color. I catch his elbow quickly. Nerves have turned to dread. I don’t want to go inside.
“Hey,” I feel my pulse, fast. “I can’t really stay. I have work soon on the other side of town. Sorry to, um, cut the visit short, but I really need to leave now.” I meet my own eyes in his aviators.
He pauses, his face empty of expression.
“Well,” he says it slow, “what time does your shift start?”
I freeze. He wasn’t supposed to ask that. I don’t have a shift; when I come home, I become the babysitter on call. I don’t always babysit, either. The lie rolls in me, uncomfortable. “Um,” I hesitate, look at my watch. “Six,” I decide. It leaves me enough time to take the bus home.
Sasuke blows out a snort, amused. He circles around me, claps a hand on my shoulder. His arm rests against my back.
“Well, there’s nothing to worry about, then.” He laughs a little. “Come on, we can hang out for a while. I’ll give you a ride to work.”
He starts walking, his hand on my shoulder, his arm against my back. He glances toward me when I don’t immediately follow. I move when prompted, body on autopilot.
Maybe he didn’t notice that I froze the second his palm touched my shoulder. Maybe he doesn’t recognize the tension under my skin.
He shuffles the key in the lock and the door rattles open.
“After you,” he says calmly, like he’s a fucking gentleman.
I swing my shoelaces over the weatherworn threshold and he slaps the light switch. Furniture flickers into view and dewy, incandescent lamps abate the underworld darkness. A home. Like any other home. Thin rugs align with precision over tired floorboards. In a shadowed living room to the left, slumbering couches slouch, their thick arms visible in the soft spread of light. Ahead, the hallway swallows, gullet-like into quiet darkness.
Behind, the door rattles shut.
“Hey, what’s your phone number?” he’s nonchalant. Casual.
The dread question. “I don’t have a cell,” I say it apologetically. We have a landline, of course, but the idea of my mother picking up Sasuke’s call is unnerving. “I have AIM and an email,” I offer instead.
He shrugs. “Sure, write it down for me.”
I shuffle in my pocket for paper and a pencil as he finishes up with the door.
“Do you smoke?” The lock scrapes into place. Normal. It’s normal. I write quickly.
“What?” I don’t stutter. I hand him the paper with my user name and email. He pockets it and steps past me to illuminate the living room. The couches flatten in the light. He beckons. Not wanting to be rude, I follow him in.
I remember his question. “Oh, um, I don’t know.” Kiba and I once found half a pack of Marlboro reds at the beach. We smoked them in secret, unsure if they were supposed to taste like fish or if seawater had gotten to them. “Not really, no.”
“Want to smoke a bowl?”
That I want to try. Kiba and I have been all mumbles about skeeving into ganja, but haven’t made the connections for it. Not that we’ve put in any effort. It’s something we’ve been planning to try together. A passing fancy, maybe. Or an adventure. My chest tightens reflexively. Would it be too harsh? How much does vengeance need to hurt? Once things go right with us, can he forgive it if I dive into this separately? With Sasuke? I remember my escape hatch.
“Work, remember?” It comes out hollow. I do want to try. I may never get another chance.
Sasuke laughs, short and humorless. “Like they’ll notice. Your choice.” He shrugs. “You don’t mind if I smoke.”
It’s not a question, not really. I shake my head anyway.
He sits neatly, gracefully folding beside the coffee table, and sets his aviators aside. From his book bag, he unearths what looks like a thick, dirty glass spoon, a small tin box, and a lighter. Mesmerized, I drift closer and slither down beside him.
“So what do you like to do? For fun.” He opens the tin and taps it, giving it a measuring look. He glances at me.
I swallow. “I don’t know. Video games. Frisbee.” Always with Kiba, I don’t say.
He blows on the spoon-like pipe and polishes it with a thumb. “Cool,” he says, packing crumbly, linty-looking weed into the bowl. The stink rubs my nostrils in fat whiffs. I watch, silent as he lights and puffs, takes a few draws.
“Don’t you want to open a window?” I ask more from curiosity than concern.
“Nah. No one will notice.”
“And you,” I lean forward a little, “carry this with you? Aren’t you worried?”
He shrugs and breathes a long stream of smoke. “I never carry enough to get charged, even if I’m caught.”
I sit back, impressed.
He catches my look. “You sure you don’t even want a hit?” He knows I want it. I hesitate. He levels my gaze then exhales and shrugs. “You can always shotgun it. Won’t burn your lungs or get to you much.”
I stare at the pipe. “What’s that?”
He leans toward me. “A secondhand hit. I breathe out, you breathe in.”
I don’t understand.
“Here, try it.” He takes a long hit and holds it. One hand sets down the pipe, the other beckons me closer. I edge in, toward his corner of the coffee table, and he reaches across to lay a few fingers on my cheek, tilting my head. It looks like he’s leaning in for a kiss. My pulse skyrockets. Sasuke raises his eyebrows. Ready? A thumb gently presses my chin until my mouth opens. Slowly, ever so slowly, he exhales.
I breathe him in. The weird, smoky taste of his lungs, the sight of him, close enough to kiss. He has the faintest ghost of freckles on his nose. His eyes are lowered, his eyelashes charmingly dark and thick. I run out of breath.
“Hold it,” he whispers, his soft breath warm on my lips. “Hold it as long as you can, then let it go.”
He doesn’t lean back. Eyes on mine. Still kiss-close.
I sit back on my heels and blow the smoke to the side. My eyes haven’t lost his. Neither of us moves. We’re still, suspended within the moment, breathing softly.
His lips quirk up and he reaches for the pipe. “Again?”
This time, we shuffle closer, our knees touching as we face each other. He pulls in another hit and we move together. Faster this time, he blows into my gently parted mouth and I suck in the smoke. His fingertips brush the edge of my jaw, skim my neck. I close my eyes a moment and it changes. His hand moves up my neck to tangle in the hair at the back of my head and more than air touches my mouth. Skin, then something wet and slick. I startle. His face is almost too close to see. He moves in again, warm, sucking, licking in. Something hot begins to uncoil in my gut.
My heart is fast, too fast. Frenzied, frightened, wanting. I lean back. His grip is tight. I have to pull away. My eyes are wild.
“How did – how did you –“
He looks genially annoyed. “Come here.” He pulls me to him, slips back into my mouth. He laughs a little. “Come on, kiss back.”
I shift my tongue to touch his. It’s intense and alien, hot. I feel my whole body flushing, tightening. Sasuke is a classmate, a stranger. I feel acutely trapped by his unknown neighborhood, his unfamiliar home. “Hold – hold on.”
He laughs again, this time genuinely amused. “Why? I know you’re enjoying this.” And white-hot, he’s touching, feeling somewhere no one else has. A wrecked, ruined sound shatters my throat. “See?”
He presses and strokes, rubs. The sensation is incredible, stunning. I push at him with my hands, fear stopping up my voice.
Not like this. I don’t want this – too much.
He’s strong, his grip firm, his touches shattering. I could cum from this. I shove him off.
“What’s wrong with you?” He’s confused, irritated.
I cannot speak. I worm backwards, away from him.
“The fuck,” he says reproachfully, scornfully. “You were the one who wanted to hang out.”
I stand to run. “I have to go,” I try to say, but not even a whisper escapes. The lock is impossible to scrape open. I’m shaking too hard to move right. Somehow, I scrabble the door open, trip and stagger out. I fly, shoes untied, through the neighborhood until I reach an intersection I recognize. Away from the house. Away from the caged terror of too much, too soon. I wish I had a cell to call Kiba, call home, to get out of here. Breathing hard, trembling, chest cramping, I sprint back toward the West side of town. Overhead, seagulls laugh.
Sasuke. I don’t know him. I don’t know him at all.
It takes almost two hours to get home. My limbs are loose and tingling, clumsy, useless. I can’t seem to run fast enough.
A/N: I wrote the first part of this in ’10 and the rest in ’13. Can you guess where the switch off occurs? You’re welcome for the horrendously dated technology, by the way. This is set in the mid 2000’s. Oh, and welcome to rape culture, friends. Nasty business, innit.
- 8
- 9
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Getting Credit