Darkprism (demented_dee) wrote,

Naruto Fanfiction // Simplicity: A Rhythm & Bruise Side Story

Title: Simplicity: A Rhythm & Bruise Side Story
Series: Monoshizukanohi/Naruto AU
Author: Darkprism
Genre: Drama/Romance/Kink
Rating: Mature
Pairing: Gaara and Kiba
Word Count: ~3600
Warnings/Notes: Language, spoilers for Rhythm & Bruise main story, oral, masturbation, bondage, electrical play, impact play, anal, angst, romance, fluff

Written for the great and glorious, kyuubi1010 because she does some incredible things for me.

Takes place *after* R&B main arc. Not necessary to read that story to enjoy this one.

Spoilers: None whatsoever.

Summary: Kiba has a Saturday afternoon request for something he needs from the man he loves.

Gaara's cheek rubbed painted plaster and the air in his lungs escaped his lips in an irritated grunt. A long, strong body pressed against him and cruel, quick hands pinned his wrists. Gaara started to snarl, but the protest died a death by fire when Kiba's musky cologne overtook Gaara's nose and when Kiba's wicked voice sang in his ears:

"I want ya to fuck me."

The request wasn't a direct command, and it took Gaara a second to register that he liked Kiba's suggestion more that way. "Oh yeah?" Gaara struggled in Kiba's grasp, just to feel the pressure of it, and when Kiba didn't let up an inch or an ounce, blood rushed south with sonic speed. Gaara went lax and moaned.

"Yah," Kiba replied, his touch transforming from captor to enticer in an instant. He kneaded Gaara's forearms, traced Gaara's sides, shoved beneath Gaara's shirt, and drew lazy circles with the pads of gentle fingers. His tongue mapped the shell of Gaara's ear. "Want ya to tie me down, gag me while I fight ya, hurt me 'til I'm shakin' for it, and..." He undid Gaara's fly in two calculated tugs and got Gaara's dick in hand for a squeeze and stroke timed to the words: "Fuck... me..."

"Mmph... okay..." Gaara agreed, dizzy with the way Kiba could unmake the world and recreate it in an image of himself.

Kiba ghosted a sigh, and Gaara translated it as relief, though Gaara didn't know from what. Kiba drew back, spun Gaara, and kissed with enough force to bruise. Gaara heard Kiba's, Thank you, in the clack of their teeth, and he cried out when Kiba fell to the floor and started lap-lick-suckling at Gaara's cock like it was the last cigarette on earth to feed Kiba's addiction.

"Kiba -- shitfuck-ooh..." Gaara's jaw went slack, and he stared into Kiba's eyes, watched Kiba swallow Gaara whole, fascinated and thrumming with sensation that shook his legs and his resolve.

"Love ya eager," Kiba's voice was even huskier than usual, and he rose to nip at Gaara's throat, "almost as much as I love ya stubborn, baby." Kiba stifled any retort with another kiss. "Give me fifteen." He glanced at the stove. "Finish yer sandwich, there, 'n come join me?"

Gaara nodded, Kiba flashed canines, and started ripping off clothing while walking to and descending the stairs on the way to their bedroom. Gaara stayed still for a long moment, elbows bent, arms resting on the wall to either side of his head, spatula in one fist, and zipper biting at his balls. The smell of burning bread alerted him that his grilled cheese was beyond rescue, and he finally got moving, tucking himself into his pants and getting the skillet off the eye. Cat began to purr from the Maine Coon's perch on the countertop, and Gaara fed the animal melted cheese.

Life was certainly interesting with Kiba under their shared roof.

Gaara prepared another sandwich, taking his time. If Kiba needed fifteen minutes to set up, then a little longer wait in anticipation would be welcome. Gaara had played enough of these games with Kiba to know the hemispheres where Kiba liked to live, and he understood enough, now, to know that Kiba seeking pain as opposed to merely bondage meant the man needed to work out something. Gaara didn't need to know the specifics. Occasionally Kiba filled him in, other times Kiba confessed it was craving or curiosity that inspired these sessions, but usually the rationale just didn't matter. Kiba wanted, Kiba asked, so Gaara did and would always do. Gaara didn't trouble himself with how much he'd be willing to undertake for the man who saved him from brinks of chaos practically every day or with worrying if it were sane or normal to feel that way. Gaara loved Kiba, and that meant anything. It meant everything. And to Gaara, that was simple enough.

Twenty minutes later, Gaara put his plate in the dishwasher and followed in Kiba's footsteps. On the main level, Gaara turned right and idly stroked himself while walking slowly along the hallway. The bedroom door was cracked, dim light spilling into the murk. With the repair job Neji's men did after the shoot-out, you could hardly tell that blood had once soaked the steps, this corridor, the walls. Gaara had asked if Kiba wanted to move when someone -- Iruka, Gaara recalled -- had mentioned that staying in the scene of the crime might be difficult. Kiba wanted no part of that, said this house would do just fine so long as Gaara could avoid getting shot again while living in it. Gaara had pointed out that neither the house nor its location had anything to do with the motives behind the incident or Gaara's statistical chances of getting fired upon in the future, though the beefed security certainly helped the odds, but Kiba had shut him up with a distracting bite to lower lip.

Gaara pushed the bedroom door open on its silent hinges. In a wash of golden light, Kiba lay naked on their mattress, seeming to float above the dark sheets. Kiba wore cuffs on his wrists and above his elbows and knees, and he'd fastened a cock ring around his base that had a strap to divide and bind his balls. His legs were bent, chest rising and falling faster than normal, and he was gorgeously hard. Gaara walked closer on autopilot and saw that Kiba had covered the end of his erection with an electrical stimulation cap, the wire leads connected to their electrostim unit, lying nearby. The cap fit snug just beneath the crown and would deliver shocks to the most sensitive parts of Kiba's dick without impeding the ability to ejaculate. From experience, Gaara knew that particular sensation erred more on the side of pain than fritzing pleasure for Kiba, and wouldn't do a damned thing for Kiba in the quest to get off. Judging by the other toys scattered next to Kiba's toes, Gaara understood Kiba wanted to find pain, dive into it, and stay there for as long he could take it.

"C'mon, sweetheart," Kiba said, his gruff and gritty voice stirring Gaara to reality.

Kiba's smile was hesitant, gaze almost wary, and Gaara strode to the bed, bent, and pressed his mouth to Kiba's. "Hands over your head," Gaara directed, and when Kiba instantly complied, Gaara snatched heavy-duty Velcro strips, looped them through the rings on the wrist cuffs, and strapped Kiba to the sturdy headboard. He tested the give without comment, gesturing for Kiba to rock and squirm. Kiba had maybe a two-inch shift in the leeway granted by the securing ties sliding on the thick slats, and that was it. Satisfied, Gaara climbed onto the bed and picked up metal clasps. Kiba bent in half one side at a time, and Gaara attached the cuffs above Kiba's knees to the ones above Kiba's elbows.

When the second piece of steel clinked into place and the bindings forced Kiba double, spread, and accessible, he started to groan with each exhale. The sounds sank into Gaara's gut and coiled in concentric, tightening, loops, wringing shudders from his shoulders. Gaara fell to the mercy of the concentrated tenderness erupting within him, and he picked up the gag Kiba had chosen before he lost the battle and did only what he wanted and not enough of what Kiba needed.

The gag was not a simple ball gag, but a face harness. Once in place, straps would cover Kiba's cheeks, pin his jaw, divide his forehead, and all fasten at the base of Kiba's skull, sinking the red round ball firmly between Kiba's teeth. Kiba growled when he saw the thing in Gaara's hand, and Gaara didn't need to know why Kiba fought this when Kiba was the one who picked the thing out of the trunk. Gaara didn't pester Kiba with questions or humiliate him with scorn. Gaara had no need of the first and no taste for the second. Gaara merely slapped Kiba with a quick blow to the cheek, more to startle than anything else. When Kiba gasped, Gaara shoved a thumb into Kiba's mouth and pulled to one side, forcing Kiba's lips to part, else they split.

"Open." The single word inspired more struggling, which Gaara anticipated. Wrestling, Gaara rode the twists and shakes, not letting up on the pressure or allowing Kiba to buck free. Kiba was panting, spittle flying in the messy exertion, but he gave Gaara a window with a backward head tilt. Gaara shoved the ball into Kiba's mouth, using opposing force to pry open Kiba's jaw. It worked, and Kiba's teeth made deep indents on the red surface. But he stopped thrashing, scowling and wheezing through his nose while Gaara buckled the gag into place.

When it was done, Gaara held Kiba's head, trying to calm himself down. It was still strange to be so affected by what felt like every emotion in the damned book. Stranger still, Gaara could manage the phenomenon without panic. Even like this, when he knew his every motion, decision, and action mattered, Gaara didn't want to run. He wanted to stay.

Kiba leaned into Gaara's touch, and Gaara gulped. He'd never exactly been good with words of comfort. In the Haze days, they weren't really necessary. Gaara said the bare minimum to follow the meager protocol or to stop the incessant weeping of his partners. Being with Kiba didn't make speech any easier, but Gaara had one tool to use now that he didn't have then: the dire willingness to touch.

"Kiba," Gaara murmured, trying to tap into the ocean of affection that rose on high tide any time Kiba was laid bare before him. Kiba whimpered, and Gaara stroked triceps, underarms, pectorals. He feathered kisses to the skin not covered by the cruel harness, liking how the gentleness clashed with the ferocity of the devices Kiba had chosen. The juxtaposition pleased Gaara on some primitive, intuitive level that he couldn't quite fathom, but he went along with the instinct. He explored Kiba's body like he didn't know every scar, freckle, mole, or follicle of hair, and soon Kiba's broken sounds of torment turned into low, lush syllables.

Gaara hovered over Kiba's face, trailed fingertips along the underside of Kiba's cock, and a shiver of pure need crackled across his nervous system when Kiba tried to lunge for more. Gaara didn't linger, pressing two fingers over Kiba's flexing asshole, instead. "This, too?" he asked in a rasp. "Can I fill you?"

A flush broke out and lit up Kiba's skin. He moaned and nodded and Gaara got completely lost in the role of active, sadistic voyeur. Kiba was always beautiful in Gaara's eyes, perfect in the ability to be with Gaara and want such a thing, but with his nipples hard and limbs contorted and lips outlining the gag, Kiba was just--

"Incredible." Kiba's head went side to side, and Gaara got moving. The plug he wanted was already on the bed, and he slicked it with a perfunctory swipe. In seconds, it was aligned, and Gaara didn't hesitate on the slide within. Kiba's cock jumped, the ring of muscle sucked at the toy, and Kiba's noises ricochet-rattled Gaara's eardrums. Gaara set up the electrical current loop with a dry mouth and a t-shirt that stuck to his back. He had to shake himself to remember the buzzer. They'd found it in a magic shop that Kiba had dragged Gaara into while they were on their beachside road trip. It was heavy and insanely loud when the button was depressed. Gaara pushed it into Kiba's palm, and Kiba white-knuckle gripped it. Big, lost, green eyes stared at Gaara, pupils so wide as to make them preternatural in appearance.

Gaara rested his forehead against Kiba's. "I wish I could taste your tongue," he said, fist finding and wrapping around Kiba's dick. Kiba's lashes flitted like butterfly wings. It was fascinating. "I love kissing you, anywhere, though," Gaara clarified, stroking from cockring to capped crown. "And this... I really like..." Gaara sped up, and Kiba writhed. "Seeing you. Like this."

Kiba grunted, rolled, swayed in the confines, and shoved against the mattress, spine arching. Gaara muttered a curse, let go, and braced Kiba with one hand while the other turned on the electrical box. It made a dull hum just audible to Gaara's hearing, sort of like his DJ equipment in the silence of empty dance clubs, and Kiba started to yowl around the gag. The unit wasn't set very high, but Gaara had felt the jolts before, up his ass and on his own dick. To him, it always felt like there was a hand in the lowest part of his gut plucking at his insides; like it played with a cord attached to a lever that when severed and thrown, would let Gaara come. It was a sweet, almost nauseating pleasure, and he palmed himself through his jeans when he set the dial a notch higher.

It took a while for Kiba to stop thrashing and start enduring. Gaara waited with remarkable patience, rubbing himself, biting his lip, and groaning in tandem with Kiba. When he was fairly sure Kiba wouldn't try to get away from the electricity juicing and milking Kiba's prostate with merciless accuracy and insistence, Gaara let go and yanked off his clothing. Naked and aroused enough it nearly hurt, Gaara soaked a finger in his mouth. He reached behind and fucked himself, deep and slow, while he bent to lave Kiba's balls with lingering licks.

Kiba was lost, and Gaara could tell because he made the tiny, hiccoughing cries that lodged in his throat. Gaara started to drown, too, losing track of everything but the mechanics of loving Kiba. Gaara marked a hipbone, found nipples to pinch-pull-twist until Kiba positively squirmed. Gaara pushed the plug deeper, held it there with a knee when Kiba's muscles tried to force it away. Throat, shoulder, pulse points, ear, jaw, collarbone: parts to relearn, to taste, to savor.

Gaara lived and breathed Kiba, shaking when he finally withdrew to crank up the dial. He nearly came when Kiba all-but screamed, and though he picked up the final item taken from their toy chest, he couldn't remember how in the hell it worked for a moment that hung suspended by sweaty suffering. Kiba had started to go soft, and Gaara was pleased beyond measure at whatever part of his brain it was that managed to issue the command to turn the box to pulse erratically at the same intensity. Kiba lurched with each crash of current, and Gaara stared at the thin, carbon rod in his hand. It had a glass handle and was about nine inches long. Gaara stared at the thing, thinking it was crueler than the cane, and then he stared at Kiba. He couldn't sort want from worry, but he knew if he didn't do all that Kiba had asked, he'd hear about it later.

"More's coming," Gaara called, possibly too loudly, but he was betting Kiba could barely hear him. Entropy and duty and the longing for an ending he hoped Kiba was beginning to seek drove him forward. He held on to the decorative end of the stick, set the length of the metal sliver just above the back of Kiba's right thigh, and pulled the end toward him until the rod's bow was vicious. "Now," he warned and flicked the unholy shit out of Kiba's leg.

A heartbeat lodged in Gaara's chest, stuck for a small eternity. Kiba froze, every muscle tensing, rippling, undulating beneath skin, and then, in bad B-movie slow motion, Kiba's thumb found the button on the buzzer and hit it.

Life got simple. Gaara shut down the electrical unit, withdrew the plug, and undid the cap. He almost fell on top of Kiba in his haste to get to the buckle on the gag, but Gaara found balance and the clasps at the same time. He took care easing the ball out of Kiba's mouth, but Kiba was already talking despite the trembling that shook jaw muscles and chin.

"Fuck me," Kiba slurred, and Gaara flung the harness aside, transfixed on Kiba: the only thing in Gaara's entire existence. "Fu-fuck... me... no more... need you... in... fu-nnngh!"

Gaara sank to the hilt and had to bite the meat of Kiba's shoulder so he didn't come with the first swing of his hips. Kiba dissolved into a muddled mess of pleading, cursing, and growling, and Gaara could do nothing but move. He grappled Kiba's cock into his hand, pumping with a twist to the end that was unmindful of how insanely sensitive it had to be after the cap.

"SHIT!" Kiba wrenched at the headboard, and his thighs slammed against Gaara's sides. "Ohgodyeah... ohFUCKyeah..." His teeth clacked, brow crumbled, face scrunched, and he only got louder with each frantic fucking second.

Gaara held on, rhythm a flurry of pounding flesh. He tasted Kiba's sweat, marred and marked with lips and teeth, and Kiba's insides gripped him like a medieval vise, evil and heavenly and cruel and blissful. Sounds of an uncaged, feral beast filled the air, and he thought that might be him, found the slip of sanity to wonder. But then Kiba sucked a ragged breath, tightened so much around Gaara that he could barely move, and everything fractured and flew like scattered buckshot with Kiba's mangled, helpless, moaning whimper.

"Ooooh," Gaara echoed, gazing at Kiba's dick spurting rope after rope of hot, sticky cum. He stroked faster, Kiba shook with dazzling violence, and Gaara caught the briefest flash of Kiba's stunned gaze before the shudders took over, stole control, and shoved Gaara into an orgasm that left his lower half tingling and nuts aching from their spend.

"Kiba," Gaara whispered again and again like a mantra, not even realizing it until Kiba answered with a dazed hum. Gaara propped on a weak arm, and they looked at one another. Words weren’t necessary, Kiba's expression said it all: love you, need you, want you, had to have you. Gaara didn't even know how he knew those sentiments to be true; he only understood that they existed and that Kiba meant them for Gaara, alone.

Gaara watched Kiba while he placed a faint kiss to Kiba's swollen lower lip. He kept watching while undoing clasps and Velcro, continued to kiss until Kiba got arms around Gaara. They rested in a lazy, recovering tangle, and eventually it was Kiba who rolled and pressed them flush. It was Kiba who held tightly while tears Gaara didn't wholly understand or even wish to claim spilled from Gaara's eyes and rolled down Gaara's cheeks, dampening Kiba's chest.

"Got ya, sweetheart," Kiba said into Gaara's hair, and Gaara slumped in relief: a task accomplished and balance restored. Kiba chuckled, watery but affectionate as always. "Love ya and what ya do fer me."

"Me, too," Gaara said.

"Mmm... Good, baby..." Kiba yawned, hooked a leg over Gaara's, and Gaara smiled, mouthing the next word silently along with Kiba: "Good."


Info on ElectroStim
Gaara's house is modeled after this one.
Main Story and all associated notes can be found here.

Much love & lazy Sunday afternoons.

<3Demented Dee
Tags: fanfiction, gift, monoshizukanohi, naruto, side story
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