Series: Monoshizukanohi//Naruto AU
Pairing: Kiba/Gaara (Among others)
Word Count: Ongoing
Warnings/Notes: Dark fiction. Bloodplay, angst, violence, abuse, gangs, D/s, bondage, impact play, other.
Spoilers: None whatsoever.
Summary: The streets of Monoshizukanohi are not kind to youth, and Gaara is no exception. After running away from an abusive home, Gaara struggles to find meaning in life through violence, drugs, and anything he can manage to survive. Join him as Gaara and his ever-present friend Jody struggle from the streets to the top of the social strata. It's rags to riches, despair to hope, and everything in between.
“And it’s a 1923?”
Gaara sighed, irritated at the insistent little man on the other side of the red counter. “Yes,” Gaara answered. He didn’t like repeating himself.
“And it’s here?”
Gaara looked up from his philosophy textbook and all-but glared at the man. He was heavy-set, bald, wore little, frameless glasses, and was apparently a car collector. Sometimes such people would wander into the shop to ask questions about Gaara’s private collection. Finding out who owned what rare car was fairly easy if you knew how to ask questions of the right people and search, and eventually Gaara’s name would come up in connection to the Rolls.
Personally, Gaara was convinced these idiots came by with no other purpose than to annoy the shit out of him. A private collection was just that: private. Inquisitive minds could fuck right the hell off.
“Where do you keep it?”
Gaara shut the textbook. “It’s none of your business where I keep it.”
“But it’s under protective tarps and in a climate-controlled storage facility at least, yes?” The man looked concerned. “The paint is a very rare hand-created mixture of-“
“Yes,” Gaara agreed, cutting him off. “I do know a little something about cars.” Gaara cocked a pale eyebrow.
“Oh, yes, of course you do,” the man agreed, flustered. “Apologies. I don’t suppose I could see the Ghost?”
“Do you ever take it to car-“
“But you should!” the man said, insistent, aggravating, and leaning entirely too far over the counter. Gaara could smell his breath. “There’s some money to be made in showing such a rare specimen. I could-“
“I don’t need money,” Gaara said, patience completely gone. “I have the damned Ghost. And the shop.”
“Let me give you my card,” the man began digging in his pockets, and Gaara repressed the urge to reach over and slam the man’s head against the counter and shove the business card into the asshole’s ear canal.
Jody wouldn’t approve. And lawsuits were a pain in the ass.
Instead, Gaara looked up and saw something that temporarily took his mind off the homework for his current online course and wishing violence upon humanity.
A 1970 Dodge Charger pulled into the parking lot. She was black, shiny, and came complete with blower. The trim was silver chrome, the windows were tinted nearly black – which was probably not street-legal, but what the hell – and even inside the building Gaara could hear the churn and chug of the hemi. The car was Hollywood’s favorite car to destroy, making it rather rare these days to find one in tact.
Gaara looked at the pretty, pretty car and saw Jody already outside with his hands in his pockets approaching the vehicle with a smile on his face.
“Hello?” the car collector said. He waved his card under Gaara’s nose. Scowling, Gaara snatched the card and gave the man a look that made the asshole go a little pale.
“I like guns, too,” Gaara growled. “You want to talk about that collection?”
The man backed away with a wave of his hand and an expression caught between anxiety and irritation.
“Get out of my shop,” Gaara said calmly, looking back out the front windows. The man obeyed, the bell ringing as he left, but Gaara paid it little attention. The Charger’s engine shut off, and Gaara started to walk out from behind the counter but stopped dead in his tracks when the driver’s door opened and the owner got out.
Gaara watched as Jody shook hands with the fucking Inuzuka, and thought – not for the first time – that the Universe was truly out to irritate him to death.
There was no one else in the main part of the shop, so no one saw Gaara turn and nearly run around the counter and through the door leading toward his office.
The front door bell rang, and Gaara paused just inside his private space. “…can fix you right up, Mr. Inuzuka,” Jody’s voice boomed. “Won’t take long – got a bay free. Just have ya a seat…”
“Thanks,” Kiba said. “Is Gaara ‘round?”
“He was behind the counter…prob’ly just stepped away. He’s here, though, why?”
“I’m friends with his big brother. Thought I’d drop in, say ‘hi.’”
Gaara didn’t slam his office door, but he did shut it a little firmer than usual. He looked at the doorknob and sincerely regretted the lack of lock. It didn’t make sense, really, to have locks on so many doors in Gaara’s life but none on this one. He would remedy that situation immediately if not sooner.
Sweeping around the large, L-shaped desk, Gaara stared down at his chair and pressed a fist to his mouth. He thought about shoving the chair beneath the doorknob to keep the bastard out, but he knew there wasn’t enough time. Instead, he collapsed down into the ergonomic piece of metal and plastic and chewed on his thumb.
Kiba was here.
And knew his brother.
And drove a fucking Charger.
The mental image of himself wrapped in Jody’s arms yesterday while the big man jerked him off and Gaara thought about Kiba assaulted Gaara’s brain. He didn’t want the Inuzuka here. In fact, every fiber of his being hated the man and wanted to get as far away from him as possible. Kiba made Gaara nervous, uncomfortable, hot, and more than a little out of control.
This was not Gaara’s preferred cocktail of emotion.
Actually, Gaara didn’t like any cocktails of emotion, really. He’d take anger or indifference straight-up, please.
There was a knock on his office door, and Gaara’s head snapped up and his hand fell away from his mouth as Kiba walked in without waiting for an answer.
“Hey,” the cocky bastard said nicely, shutting the door behind him. Kiba wore a faded red t-shirt with the words, “Anarchists Assemble” on it in block letters. The collar was loose and Gaara could see he wore another shirt under the red one. A short, leather jacket provided a third layer, and his jeans and heavy boots were casual and looked comfortable. Sunglasses pushed back his unruly brown hair on top of his head, and Gaara found himself lost in a second staring at Kiba’s eyes in this light. They were the palest of pale greens Gaara’d ever seen, and the pupils stood out like tiny coals.
Kiba leaned back against the door. “Miss me?” he asked, grin splitting his lips. Gaara observed a length of chain around Kiba’s throat, saw the leather cuff on one of Kiba’s wrists as he crossed his arms, and then he forced himself to look down at his desk. He yanked open a drawer, ostensibly searching for something.
“No,” Gaara said. “What do you want?”
“Oil change,” Kiba said.
“Waiting area is out front,” Gaara replied, shutting the drawer without removing anything. His hands played on the desk, searching for something with which to fidget.
“Kankuro said t’tell ya, ‘hi,’” Kiba said calmly, pushing away from the door. He walked over and sank down into the chair opposite the desk. The plastic creaked, and Kiba paused as if seeing if the chair would hold his weight. It was small and cheap; Jody put it in Gaara’s office so he’d have a place to sit when they talked shop. The only other furniture was Gaara’s desk, his chair, and a tall set of shelves full of books and a weird assortment of knick-knacks.
“You know my brother,” Gaara stated. His hands found a paperclip and he started unbending it.
“Yessir,” Kiba answered, and Gaara could feel his eyes roaming over Gaara’s form. “We talked quite a bit ‘bout ya.”
Gaara didn’t know how he felt about that, but it gave him pause to think of Kiba and Kankuro exchanging…what? Information? A list of Gaara’s food allergies?
“Didn’t know you were his brother ‘til couple weeks ago, though. Put the baby bro he’s always goin’ on ‘bout together with the DJ at the clubs. You two got diff’rent las’ names.”
“Yes,” Gaara answered. The paperclip was now a straight line. He needed Kiba out of here, but he could hear the recording of Jody’s voice in his mind blathering on about paying customers.
“Uh, why is that?”
“He took his mother’s name,” Gaara answered and then clacked his teeth shut. Why – why – did he feel the need to actually answer this fool’s questions?
“Ah,” Kiba said, nodding and playing with the knee of his jeans. “Same dad, diff’rent moms, then?”
“The waiting area’s out-“
“You got a sis, too, doncha?” Kiba asked.
That’s fucking it.
Gaara stood up, spine nearly snapping as it went straight. “I told you: I’m not interested. Stop interrogating me and get the fuck out of my office.” He glared at Kiba and tried not to let it show that he was nervous and on edge. But even Gaara knew he failed in that department.
“Nah,” Kiba said, leaning back and lacing his hands behind his head with a smirk. “And I’m not interrogatin’ – just askin’ questions, sweetheart.”
“Call me that again, and I swear to Christ I’ll-“ Gaara stopped himself and breathed in deeply with his eyes closed. No – he would not let this man rock his world like this. How in the hell Kiba got to him so fast and so easily was beyond Gaara, but he stilled himself and tried to calm down. He needed this man away from him, and blindly one hand reached for the phone to call an employee back to assist with the Kiba problem. Gaara couldn’t shoot him on property – or anywhere else for that matter, in truth – but he could call in Sora and -
“Or you’ll, what…sweetheart?”
Gaara opened his eyes and saw that Kiba was on his feet, too, and much closer. One of his hands was splayed on the desk, and he leaned forward as he searched Gaara’s face with those –
- strange eyes. And there it was – the grin from that night at Break. That was the set of teeth that haunted Gaara’s thoughts and fantasies since Sunday despite Gaara’s efforts to make the images fade and go away. It made him angry that he was so out of sorts because of this man. It worried him that in just a few short days, Kiba had infiltrated his dreams and seemed to be setting up house. Gaara didn’t want, he didn’t long, and he wasn’t about to fucking start now.
“I warned you,” Gaara said coldly. And in a mad flash of hazy red, Gaara snatched up a metal letter opener out of an Akasuna Auto coffee mug and jammed it down into the webbing between Kiba’s thumb and forefinger. The metal bit into skin and desk with a loud thwock!
The Inuzuka’s eyes widened and his mouth opened without sound. Both he and Gaara stared down at the split skin of Kiba’s left hand, blood pooling on the desk blotter. For a couple of seconds that seemed to pass by slowly enough to have their own calendars, nothing happened.
Then Kiba made a low, rough noise, and Gaara’s head snapped up to look at him. Now that it was done, he didn’t know quite how to feel about the violence inherent in this system. He’d probably gone too far – a client was bleeding on his desk, after all – and he could already hear his sister and his shrink sighing with long-suffering patience. In a flash Gaara saw Kiba making threats, Jody coming in, the cops storming the shop, and Gaara would be on medication and under supervision for the rest of his natural life.
“Oh,” Kiba said like something disgusted him. Gaara took a step back, trying to find words. Then green eyes snapped up to meet his, and the look there was hungry.
“It’s on now, bitch,” Kiba snarled.
The Inuzuka yanked the opener out of his flesh and the desk with a vicious display of strength that sent blood spraying. He cursed but didn’t let the pain stop him from using his injured hand to brace as he leapt over the desk. Paperwork and the coffee mug went flying as Kiba’s leg knocked them aside.
Gaara stood frozen for a quarter of a second, and then immediately threw himself backward. He turned and reached for the edge of the desk to help propel him out of Kiba’s way and toward the shelves where he kept a .38, but there wasn’t enough time for avoidance or enough space to maneuver. A rough hand grabbed the back of Gaara’s shirt and Kiba slung the redhead backward and into a wall with enough force to make a paperweight shudder on the desk.
Air left Gaara’s lungs, and his hands came up to block his face on instinct, but Kiba was already there, grabbing Gaara’s wrists. The Inuzuka shoved a long shin over Gaara’s thighs to keep him from kicking, and he twist-pulled Gaara’s arms above his head, shoulders and wrists popping beneath the grip. Gaara gulped in some air to make a soft noise as his arms were rammed against the wall, and he blinked, dazed.
“They were right ‘bout you,” Kiba said, voice oddly…calm. Anger warred with shock in Gaara’s body, and he couldn’t find his tongue to respond.
“Asked Naru and Kashi and even fuckin’ Kimi about the lil’ DJ,” Kiba explained, head tilting a little to one side as he studied the man in front of him. “’bout what he does, if there’s a who that he does, what he likes. And they all said same thing: he’s fuckin’ crazy.” Kiba grinned at Gaara as his eyes narrowed, nearly playful. “Said he’s dangerous and a bad, bad boy.”
Gaara glared at Kiba and yanked his arms, but Kiba’s grip held. The man was almost twice Gaara’s size, the redhead noticed thanks to the rather intimate proximity. Gaara felt something slick on his skin above his head.
That’s blood…he’s bleeding on me.
That shocked him still, and Gaara bit the inside of his cheek.
“And fuck me,” Kiba half-groaned. “But I love ‘em nuts. I like ‘em with teeth, bitch.” Kiba roughly switched his grip to hold Gaara’s wrists with his uninjured hand, and Gaara shivered a little as Kiba’s fingers ground bone and muscle together and made it all hurt.
The Inuzuka chuckled. “An’ you like me.” Kiba brought his hand down to his mouth and sucked on the wound. Blood smeared on his lips, and he licked it off with a dark red tongue.
“Doncha?” Kiba asked with a steady gaze.
Gaara stared at Kiba’s red hand and wrist. For a second he watched the man suck at the wound while Kiba’s eyes scanned Gaara’s face. Then he swallowed.
“No, I don’t,” Gaara whispered, eyes snapping up to lock on Kiba’s. “And you’re insane.” He managed to make the last sound like he meant it.
“Oh now I’m crazy, huh?” Kiba snorted. “I ain’t the one stabbin’ people, honey.” Kiba drew slightly closer until Gaara could feel the Inuzuka’s breath on his face. Gaara tried to hold the man’s gaze and found he couldn’t.
“But if we gotta do this lil’ dance to get ya talkin’?” Kiba shrugged and flexed his hurt hand. Gaara’s eyes went back to the blood and then dragged themselves away with effort. His heart hammered in his chest and he could feel his pulse racing at his throat and temples. He needed…away. Out. Gone. Now.
With a soft noise, Gaara shifted and felt the weight of Kiba’s body across his legs and pressing him into the wall above his head. He shifted and struggled, and felt Kiba’s unrelenting pressure as the Inuzuka held him still. But oddly that didn’t add to his sense of panic; it soothed it. That made exactly no sense, and Gaara shook his head and tried to force himself out of the daze that this bit of shocking physicality caused.
“Let. Me. Go.” Gaara glared and snarled.
“Nah,” Kiba said with another shrug.
The indifference and his own position made Gaara feel more than a little crazed and trapped and…other things.
“Fuck off!” Gaara yelled, riding the anger. “Get the fuck off me!” He struggled and Kiba met him thrash for flail.
“I’m going to fucking kick your ass!” Gaara hissed, panting now. And it wasn’t just exertion. His eyes went a little wide as he realized with no small amount of horror that he was hard.
“Okay,” Kiba said, sounding almost eager. He tilted his head to one side again, and Gaara stared at the bit of dried red at the corner of Kiba’s mouth. He studied how it cracked when Kiba’s lips moved.
“Ya wanna hurt me? Fine by me, doll. I like it down as much as I like it up.” He leaned closer and his voice dropped lower. Gaara felt rough stubble against his face as Kiba spoke. “Ya gotta mean swing, bitch?” he whispered. “Wanna tear up my back and my ass and make me beg ya to stop and fuck me?”
Gaara panted, and there was a rush in his ears that drowned out everything but Kiba’s voice. He turned his head away with a frustrated noise, but it sounded a little too much like a whine.
“Ya wanna fuck me and hurt me?” Kiba rumbled, lips moving now against Gaara’s cheek. “’sall good, sweetheart…” Kiba pulled back and his eyes grew sly and cocky and sure. “I know what ya like.”
Rough, slick fingers gripped the sides of Gaara’s face, and in a panic he realized Kiba pressed his wound over Gaara’s mouth. He struggled and made a noise born of claustrophobia and confrontation.
“If ya wanted a taste, you could of just asked,” Kiba said, low and soft and clearer of accent. “Go on.”
Gaara shook his head. He didn’t want this. He thought. Maybe. Confusion and heat beat in Gaara’s mind, and he flashed back to Haze and licking a long line of blood off his own skin. His taste buds recalled with crimson clarity the bitter flavor; the thickness of the liquid usually left on the inside of human bodies, untouchable and…
Sacred man, lemme drink you…
Pushing hard against Kiba’s hand and leg, Gaara let out a shaking breath. Sweat rolled down his sides under his shirt. His cock was hard and heavy beneath his jeans. And his brain was a mess of thought and void.
“I’m clean,” Kiba rumbled, eyes half-lidded as he stared at Gaara’s mouth. “Now do it.” The order was firm and low and slithered down Gaara’s spine like snakes seeking to bend will.
Breath entirely too quick, Gaara’s tongue darted out and gathered a tiny drop from Kiba’s skin, and then he jerked his head away. Enough, God…get him away, Gaara prayed to the imaginary Maker.
Get him away before it’s…before I…oh God, I think I want…
Kiba crooned and let go of Gaara’s wrists and dropped his leg. Gaara’s arms fell to his sides, limp from lack of blood flow, but he used his shoulder and entire body to shove Kiba away.
Making another soft noise, the Inuzuka’s hands came up to settle on Gaara’s upper arms, fingers gently rubbing. Gaara tried to ignore that, and he sucked in a long, harsh breath. His hands struggled and came up to push against Kiba’s chest without much force. The furious words welled up and stung his tongue, and he was ready to scream for Jody. Ready to pick up a paperweight and bash this fucker’s head into new shapes.
But a smell stopped him – a familiar smell. Gaara blinked.
“Strawberries,” he said.
Kiba stared at Gaara uncomprehendingly and the hands on the redhead’s arms flexed minutely. “Um,” Kiba said. “Is that like, yer safeword or-“
“The smell,” Gaara said, cutting Kiba off. “It’s…”
“Oh,” Kiba said. “Yeah – candy. It’s strawberry candy.” Kiba dug his right hand into his jacket pocket, and some part of Gaara made mental note that Kiba seemed completely and utterly unconcerned about his split hand, the mess in the office, the blood on his mouth and all over Gaara’s clothes. And wall. And floor. Drips and splatters marked their dance, and would be a real bitch to clean up.
But all the note-taking stopped when Kiba pulled out a familiar hard candy in a ruby wrapper.
“I suck on ‘em when I can’t smoke. Some foreign shit,” Kiba said, holding the treat between his fingers. He had nice hands.
This is…confusing. Too much confusion…
Gaara breathed and Kiba continued. “But they’re good. Ya wanna try one?” Kiba looked at Gaara like they’d just spent the last ten minutes calmly discussing classical literature instead of fighting with makeshift weapons and drinking blood.
Gaara stared at the candy and then turned his head. On his desk sat a little bowl full of the same pieces of sugar and flavoring. Jody bought them for Gaara – they were the redhead’s favorite.
“Oh,” Kiba said and smiled. “So you-“
“Boss, I’m done with-“ Jody walked into the room and then froze with one hand on the doorknob. He looked at the coffee mug and paper on the floor, saw Kiba’s hand on Gaara’s shoulder, took in the blood that was in all sorts of interesting places, and then his hazel eyes went dark as he leveled his focus on Kiba.
“Oh shit,” Kiba said.
Jody looked at Gaara for a brief second – giving the redhead a chance to protest, explain, or yell, perhaps – and then he crossed the room looking like a bulldozer bent on death and destruction.
Kiba released Gaara and held up his hand. Jody paused and looked at the wound, but then quite obviously disregarded it.
“Don’t fuckin’ matter,” Jody said gruffly with a shake of his head. Massive hands reached and grabbed the smaller Inuzuka and pulled him back across the desk without apparent strain. Paperwork, pens, and the phone went flying into the floor with clatters and a loud clang. Kiba made a startled noise and reached up to grab at the big man’s wrists, but Jody didn’t falter. He turned and half-dragged and half-carried the spluttering Kiba out of Gaara’s office.
Gaara walked around the desk – stepping over the debris that was now all over the floor – and followed them into the hallway. He couldn’t pull his thoughts together, so instead he played the part of the bystander.
Jody managed Kiba like his size, weight, and struggles were insignificant annoyances. There were customers in the waiting area, and instead of walking through them, Jody shoved his shoulder into the door leading into the shop. Gaara followed, eyes alight with curiosity and a tinge of self-righteousness.
“Jody, it’s not-“ Kiba tried again.
“I tol’ you,” Jody yelled over Kiba’s protests. “It don’t fuckin’ matter.”
Sora and Guren stepped away from a Mercedes to watch as Jody calmly and efficiently walked the length of the shop and quite literally threw the Inuzuka out of the bay door. Kiba landed on the pavement with a heavy thud and slide, and he cursed as he got up onto his hands and knees.
Jody grabbed a massive wrench – he used it to undo engine bolts on Volkswagens – and slung it up behind his neck and across his shoulders. The thing weighed about twenty pounds and could easily take someone’s head off with the proper force and application.
And Gaara knew Jody would have no trouble with either of those bits of physics.
“Your car’s done,” Jody said, voice cold. “Now get the hell outta here ‘fore I do somethin’ that’ll make me have to repave the goddamned parkin’ lot.”
Kiba stood up with a grimace and looked at Gaara. The redhead said nothing, just stared back at Kiba blankly. Part of him felt it served the bastard right. Part of him was happy Kiba had said nothing of his injury – not that he really had the chance, but he could have barked out that Gaara stabbed him.
And a tiny part thought he should speak up and say something in defense of the man who now picked up his broken sunglasses and brushed himself off.
But Gaara was good at ignoring those sorts of impulses. This would get the cocky asshole out of his hair and life, and he wouldn’t have to contemplate that little scene back in his office in that case. There would be no point – none of it mattered as long as Kiba went away.
Far, far away, preferably.
The Inuzuka’s lips pursed for a second and then he straightened his spine and bowed low at the waist. He stayed like that as he spoke.
“Thank you for working on the car. I apologize for the misunderstanding.” He spoke clearly and precisely and then snapped back up. Gaara licked his lips and shifted his weight, arms crossing over his chest.
Kiba started to go and then paused. Jody stiffened, but Kiba merely tossed the piece of candy that was still in his hand. It landed near Gaara’s feet.
“Ya should try it,” Kiba called. “Never know what ya might like if ya don’t try shit.”
Jody took a menacing step forward and Kiba turned on his heel and went to his car. The keys were in the ignition, door unlocked, and Gaara watched the Inuzuka start up the purring engine and leave. Then he looked down at the candy and tried not to think about the none-too-subtle message of Kiba’s parting words.
A/N: Much love to the lovely peeps on Y!Gal for listening to this twice in the Porn Read Alongs (see the Monoshizukanohi FAQ Link on the sidebar for details).
Also, audio chapter available for free download. Interested? Click here!
Much love & war wounds.