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No matter how much Itachi tried keep himself quiet, that skillful tongue ensured a gasp or two escape lips nonetheless.
“I… ugh,” Itachi squeezed eyes, the opened a fraction, tried to avert them, all in vain. The flat moist surface dragged up his pulsing shaft, swirled over the ridges and sensitive nerves on neck, then fiercely over the head, determined to fracture his composure.
Friction seared. “I…,” another shaky moan left him, head thrown back, toes curling in throes of ecstasy. Pleasure was raw, crude, yet laced with the restrain he couldn't peel off, intensifying the moment of bliss beyond what could be considered sane.
With no other option, Itachi bit the inside of mouth that hard coopery scent blossomed on tongue. He had to retain some semblance to dignity, just had to. He could not let this one win. Get the best of him. Could not. Lamentably, that was easier said than done. Deidara knew what he was doing and that’s no up to the debate. He wore the shame that had Itachi burning with mortification as a necklace.
A lap or two more, and he foiled all Itachi’s efforts at self-control. “Fu -” he almost grumbled an undignified curse, but didn’t manage to bite back throaty groans in time.
A shaky hand bolted to the back of Deidara’s head, outside his volition, cupped and laced through silken locks. Before Itachi knew it, he was guiding that wonderful moist craven closer to his cock, already aching with the sheer imperativeness of his need. A startled gasp announced the second Itachi processed what he’s just done, but it was too late, inhibitions has already disintegrated.
In lieu of irked breaths bordering on huffs, Deidara seemed tickled by his waning control. “Good, mm?” he purred through thick lashes, mirth dancing in the unveiled bewitching eye. His voice was low rumble, twisting Itachi’s stomach and spiking something hot and wicked inside, a craving that flooded veins, eclipsed rationale.
Tangibly chuffed, Deidara closed eyes and toyed with him; lapped and slobbered, drove insane with excruciatingly ecstasy, divine but lacking the intention he had a hunch it can posses. Itachi didn’t need to say a thing. It was good and they both knew it. Deidara’s flicks were imbued with confidence, his chakra wouldn't be ripe with deadly attractive assurance if he wasn’t positive he can undo him with simple pecks and flimsy strokes.
“Ah, sh – it is,” Itachi barely bit back another toned cruse, tried his best not to crumble. Profanities would be below his league, betray how much Deidara wormed under skin in such a short amount of time.
As if you don’t already know. If it were just the nullity of physicality… at least it’d be a fraction easier.
The sly movements of those nimble hands and tongue didn’t leave space for rumination. All Itachi could concentrate on was the wet heat around the most sensitive part of his anatomy, the throbbing desire he desperately needed curbed. Deidara tucked a loose strand behind ear, peered up at him with both hooded blue orbs, dimmed yet gleaming with unbridled lust, and puffed hot air over the flushed tip of his far hotter erection.
Inferno inside him came to life. Itachi swore the world stopped orbiting. Fuuck.
A sharp rush of pleasure had him shuddering. Ah. This has to be heaven and hell in one go.
He was nothing but trembles and sweat, cheeks burning and mind reeling. Ah, if only he hadn’t clung to the facade of arrogance and has taken more than the cloak off when Deidara dropped on knees and reached for his belt. Back then, he surmised the experience would be fleeting in nature, as everything with Deidara. Proud in his impatience, raring for the buzz of the thrill, he can’t possibly grab it and drag out. Alternatively, ego kicks in Deidara balks at the mere thought of servicing him – being physically below him.
Oh how wrong he was, it was laughable. If lips weren’t parted in soft moans, Itachi would have sneered at himself, far from foreign self-loathing clawing at the entrails. He had to admit it, leastwise to himself – he has underestimated Deidara. Big time. Made it into a habit to, blond’s explosive temperament and pomposity, but failed to realize these jabs are no longer swimming in the sea of charted expertise; the concept of power is of many facets.
This torrid and dripping one is out of his league; outside the knowledge, outside the reins. He had many defenses against Deidara’s pesky, blaring explosives – none against the lush drool abundantly trickling down the sides of his ridiculously hard cock. Deidara knew he’s unfamiliar with the dizzying sensation of burning skin breaking out in shivers of desire, and damn was he making the most out of it.
“You’ve gone quiet, hm,” brat hummed softly, phonily, aiming for faux innocence while flicking the tongue up the underside, casting that torrid look up. Itachi’s traitorous heart did a little flip. Ah, if only Deidara wasn’t this crazily beautiful, it’d be easier to resist.
Deidara pumped him at the base, brisk and hot. “Too quiet for my liking,” the tip of that sinful little tongue poked into the slit, as a punishment.
The twinge was fugacious, morphed into the source of overpowering tinges of ecstasy, making Itachi flex fingers through golden locks, pull with sufficient force to make Deidara’s scalp burn and get him to hiss; right over him. Ah, hell. It was amazing.
In dissonance, Deidara channeled absurd lightness into fondles, fondness even. Grip over the heavy sacks wasn’t vice, but not kind either; so feathery pads shot shivers up Itachi’s charged nerves, lolling head back and welling up groans over the sore vocal cords. His lungs felt like burning, frisson sucking all air out. He couldn't stomach this.
Deidara didn’t break eye contact even once. He soaked everything in, every bead of sweat outracing the heights of his cheek, every shaky gasps moistening lips and diluting focus and picking up the heart rate. He lapped and touched, sometimes softly, something not, itching him to break. It was bedeviling, galling. Frustrating how restrain was slipping through the fingers with each patch of skin that burned under the teasing.
Itachi didn’t refrain from a scowl. In accordance, a smirk painted on Deidara’s luscious lips, moving and vibrating around him. The wanton stretch accompanied with the warm pressure over the neck gulled hips into moving. Illness tampered, begged for a dwindling, but Itachi couldn't slow down. Pain was an additional spur on.
“Hah,” a long gasp slipped from the firmly clamped lips, a heady cocktail of chemicals roving up to his addled head. It was all so good. Too good.
He slipped out, by chance or purpose, Itachi was too lost to tell. A feral sound of ire grated throat, conveyed nothing short of frustration puncturing flesh and drilling into the marrow, demanding more. Cold air nipped at his throbbing flesh, stirred searing ache and spread chills over Itachi’s limbs like a spider web. It was annoying, tempting.
More. It hurt how much he needed more. Like oxygen to breathe. He couldn't peer down and see how swollen red he is, the flush of embarrassment would end him on spot; make him end on spot. Even so, Itachi felt the weight of his dick pressing into the slope of Deidara’s cheek, smearing slick over the flushed skin, showcasing how gone he is.
Deidara made a funny sound, hitched in the back of throat, startled. Awfully tempted, Itachi risked a glance down and fuck. Ah, he shouldn’t have. It was too much. Uncaring for the crumbling facade of apathy, Itachi threw head back, screwed eyes and inhaled sharply, so icy it cut the sore skin of his throat. He had to clench rippling muscles on lower stomach and conjure the images of the worst vileness to buy himself a minute or two, if he’s being generous. His head spun, rapidly, dizzily, hips rocked up, chased more.
“Ah,” Deidara gave a fast but high breath, flinching a little so head dug into the bridge of his nose. Itachi imagined his lips were shaped into a small pout, but didn’t dare peek down to confirm. He had to cling to a semblance of power, when tangibly robbed of all.
Another gasp, then a dooming low titter. “Oh, I get it, hm,” the little tease droned, all cheeky puffs overflowing with conceit. Get what, Itachi itched to ask but also dreaded. Heh, how nerveracking. Deep down, he knew he’s ruined.
It’s in Deidara’s blood to savor the surprise, nonpareil adrenaline junkie. Lured in by whatever conclusion he arrived to, Deidara rubbed against him, nuzzled and cuddled, careful to not push over the edge by being too rough or soft. He stopped when heat reached the point of boiling, continued just as he was about to cool down and catch his breath. Ministrations were cruel, merciless in their lightness, and he wouldn't trade them for anything. Itachi only wished he was free to do as he liked, but restrains had nothing to do with the intoxicating games Deidara was playing with his head.
It’s disdainful to acknowledge there are aspects in which he’s outdone, by a landslide. Unacceptable for the ego, devastating before this one striving for greatness, vying for the number one spot. Regretfully, it was the harsh truth he couldn't circumvent, nor mend without discarding every sacrifice made to be in this present moment, physically free but chained down by the guilty conscience and the weighting sense of duty.
At the end of the day, this wasn’t about Deidara having an upper hand when it comes to physicality he, clearly, has far more experience under the belt in, but about Deidara knowing how to yank his chain whenever it pleases him.
The worst of all? Itachi was powerless in the face of the lustful surge. The flood coursed through his veins, expending them beyond limits, threatening to burst at the seams. Because his body – he – was weak. Awfully weak. Unfamiliarly, dishonorably weak.
Control. It was all about the control. A weapon he utilized not so rarely, weaved illusions around himself out of necessity. Human mind can easily be pulled out and molded, perception the most malleable thing of all. Yet, he failed in the very thing he swore he excels in. If he cannot control himself in the face of hedonistic rush he was never to yearn for, how can he hope to pave the path for someone else?
His life has been that of many mistakes. Too many for human soul to endure and strive for the soundness of mind. It wasn’t just guided by the errors in his ways, but shaped, defined. Itachi wished he could label this another in the line, without reservations. Regretfully, that’d be a glaring lie. Even now, he knew he won’t be looking back on this stolen moment with a frown and bile of regret gathering in mouth. The opposite, he’s likker to regret not letting go and devouring the last crumb, down to the bones.
As expected, Deidara didn’t take him back in right away. Wearing a smile imbued in thrilling assurance, he got a hold of his base, unhurriedly guided the shaft where he wanted it and panted over flushed tip, the pressure of his fast and warm breath tingling a deeply suppressed desire. It all sent a lethal thrill up Itachi’s spine. Hot. So damn hot.
This man knew exactly what he wants and wasn’t ashamed to get it, unbound by the honor and principles this cruel world has hammered into their heads. No, he wasn’t like the rest of them, aloof and reserved, afraid to live in the moment. Deidara proudly went again everything Itachi took as an axiom.
Gripping.
It was all so erotically gripping, to the point where he lost the grip on reality.
Itachi drew in again, hot white static rushing over him and reducing to mortifying series of heavy gasps and shivers. The world around him palled into nothingness, soft breeze no longer caressing skin and chirping of birds providing the soothing background noise. All he could focus on was the heat coiling in navel, the electric buzzes, the raw need.
How did he live his whole life without this? Gosh. Now can’t stomach the thought of Deidara’s mouth off him. Banish the mere thought of a pause, let alone a halt.
The realization itself is the most wicked addiction of all. He’ll never be the same.
“Not gonna grumble how it’s my job to make you loud?” Deidara razzed, unhurriedly stroking and inching closer, till insides of Itachi’s thighs met with his collar bones. His skin was packed with nerves, all charged up, the slightest contact set on fire.
Deidara took note of his affect, spelled in the tapering of the unconcealed eye into something dangerously tempting. “Too bad, I will anyways,” he showered his cock in damp kisses, all rolling with the lewd ‘pop’. “And you’re gonna love it, mm.”
I already do. More than I should.
As if one tongue wasn’t enough to drive him out of his sane mind, Deidara had to put his kinjutsu to work. He cupped him, let those sins dart out and do their thing. Friction was… ah, he’s never felt this way before. Like his nerves were frayed, incapable of containing that amount of pure joy; largely unfamiliar, the system had to reject this bliss.
Tongues curled around the base, first the pulsing grith, then down to balls, reaching the taint and teasing that sensitive patch of skin that tricked his hips into rolling. A trail of precum surged out, slid down the side. Deidara held him in place and slowly licked, from the base up to the tip, making sure he feels the spongy surface of his tongue, quirk of lips and lust gleaming in eyes like Itachi is the most delicious thing he’s ever tasted.
A slushy sound wired Itachi up. “You taste sweet,” Deidara confirmed through a raspy whisper, voice dropping few octaves with desire. “Maybe a bit too sweet. Yea, definitely too much. I’ve told you to cut down on dango,” he gave a heartfelt laugh, vibrations undoing, to the bits.
Itachi grinded his teeth, utterly lost. Prior to this torment, he didn’t have a clue this magnitude of libertinism was achievable. That his iniquitous mortal soul can store this much desire, this scorching, scalding. The mere act of allowing himself this animalism made him sick to his stomach. The alarms inside his addled brain went off, screeched that he shouldn't be enjoying this – shouldn’t be enjoying himself. The path leading to the dead end of his life is supposed to be paved in misery, not selfish decadence.
The more Itachi berated himself for stooping this low, the harder it became to resist. It’s like Deidara knew exactly what to do to make him squirm and yearn. It was ridiculous. He had limbs broken, liters of blood lost, numerous injuries sustained. He’s a seasoned ninja, the notorious prodigy, well-versed in stealth and equanimity, taught not to crack under pressure. No training could ever prepare him for something like this.
To think it was a blowjob that unfolded him to the ruins… it was insulting. Yet poetically right. So wrong it had to be right. Au fond, Itachi knew he knows himself very little; not a fact he was particularly proud of, but not the one he could turn the blind eye on, no matter how much he wished to. However, he had no idea he knows himself this little. That there is a wanton craving writhing in navel that’s carved a path for this obscenity to worm in and posses, down to the last cell.
Deidara was too good in the act of degradation. If the ungodly flicks of his tongues hadn’t eroded lucidity, Itachi would have played on the card of his insecurities and sensitive pride. But he couldn't get tongue to disentangle, mouth to open without undignified sounds slipping out. They dyed his face a brighter shade of red, glistering with sweat and perhaps even saliva. He must paint a one hell of a mess this wrecked.
A slow lap over the vein had Itachi melting in own skin, clothes drenched from the inside, infuriatingly constrictive. “Ah, y-you…” are too good at this, he probably was about to moan, but arrogance filtered in the nick of time.
A pause filled with tattered gasps, puffs of air tickled the swollen flesh in the absence of stimulation. “Yes,” Deidara exhaled, strained and low, excitement expending his pupils, black overshadowing the crystal blue. “That’s what I want to hear, mm.”
A smidgen of honesty yielded instant reward. Not offering a syllable of titillation more, Deidara parted lips and took him in; no more than a head, lips moving around him in slow but excruciatingly intense suctions. A hint of smile threatened to break out, an inhibition fly over his head. Itachi seized the bird of hedonism by the talons and flung back into the cage where it belongs; out of sight, but woefully not out of mind.
Deidara gathered saliva on tongue, hollowed cheeks, and sucked, did everything in his power to drive him insane, as if he wasn’t already driven to the brink of madness by resisting a thrill his body clearly craves. Pads of Deidara’s surprisingly gentle fingers drew hazy circles over balls, tongues swirled over the taut flesh and burned.
Ah, he wanted. Wanted so much. It was inhumane what this man is doing to him.
Deidara didn’t gag, not once. The realization… ah, it did things to him. Stupid things. The ones that flooded veins, imprinted into every fiber of being, corrupted to the point where he couldn't think of anything else but the tip sliding down Deidara’s throat as the heavy sack slaps his jaw. Itachi was terrified before the fury of a craving. The fervid need to sheath himself in till Deidara is choking, glimmer in eyes replaced with tears.
As if in a reverie of his own, Deidara closed eyes and formed a thrilled smile around him. Unshackled by the shame, he was free to do as he pleased. So he moaned and bobbed head, moved in a lewd manner that amplified Itachi’s desire, tenting in pants rubbing onto the grass, vulgar in its neediness. A sizzling flush of desire wrecked through Itachi, canted chin back as beads of sweat dangled from the clenched jaw. Fuck.
To be honest, he was a complete novice in the art of pleasure. It’s a great understatement that he’s lacking in experience with another human being, however that’s not to say he’s ever explored own body properly. Physical needs had him cornered, at times he had to bow. Itachi did bring himself off when the pressure threatened to meddle. Even then, he viewed it as something mechanic, a need to satiated, nuisance induced by the hormones rather than an indulgence. With that said, it’s little surprise the slightest pleasure given by someone else beset, had him utterly defeated.
Skilled as he is, Deidara could have brought him off already, but hadn’t; sadistically kept on the edge, dragged the torment out. The wicked arch of his back, the little patch of skin hoisted shirt exposed, ends of long tresses tickling the hem of pants, the succulent curve of his behind – Itachi mapped them all out with eyes, but it wasn’t enough. He itched to slithered fingers down Deidara’s spine, trace the dips and lines of the lithe body and sink inside the far tighter heat. He wanted to be there again. Needed. Had to, with maddening frenzy that burned flesh and left him feeling raw, like it’s the first time.
Guided by a bare reflex, Itachi stiffed the grip over the back of Deidara’s head and forced him closer, so he takes everything in. Nothing could have prepared for the chill hail of thrills, dilating his pupils and heightening breath. Ah, pure bliss. An agony. In his frenzy, Itachi yanked the mop of golden out of the half ponytail. He might have plucked stand or two out, given that Deidara sounded a pained whine, and shivered; ups.
Deidara stopped, for a moment, and pulled away to look at him, saliva forming bridges between his puffed mouth and Itachi’s own… ah, he couldn't bear to look. It was too much. A moment that was too long in Itachi’s overstrung head, flesh clad in shivers. Hips gave a needy roll, begging in the absence of words.
A cheeky grin pulled at the corners of Deidara’s lips. He knows, Itachi realized with a frown. Deidara patted the insides of his thighs, demanded attention. “Rough, ain’t you?”
Deidara’s tone was menacingly light. He didn’t seem to mind the stings, the treatment teetering on the rougher side. The opposite, jolts of pain seemed to please, for the knew what they meant when coming from him, an avatar of self-control. You know exactly what you’re doing to me and that is what will be the beginning of my end.
“I…” Itachi struggled shaping a seamless sentence, brain officially fried. He couldn't get the supercilious tongue to roll over an apology, not towards this brat that was starving for same. Couldn’t get chest to stop heaving and panting to wane.
Sweat rolled down his temple in waves, prickled and nipped, goaded. “Didn’t mean to,” he breathed out eventually, wretched, humiliatingly out of breath. “My bad.”
A mellow chuckle signaled Deidara’s renewed amusement. “Apologizing to me, arrogant Uchiha?” he playfully tilted head, licked lips in a languid deliberate drag that set Itachi’s blood on fire, “that’s new, mm.”
Jabs at his bloodline got Itachi’s eye twitching, on the brink of glowing. Fortunately, Deidara dropped it, for now. He nuzzled nose against him, panted over the drenched tip, “Don’t worry your pretty little head, I like it,” and hummed before taking him back in.
For a fleeting second, Itachi speculated if he’s gotten caught in own genjutsu. It was a foolish thought, scurrilous even, but a realistic possibility. This had to be a fantasy, had to. Willful and cocky, Deidara took pride in being above the shackles; tameless. So the idea of him getting down on knees and servicing another man, an Uchiha he professed to scorn… it was inconceivable.
Except, this all felt real. Too real. The moist heat encompassing him and the constant buzz of static were all too vivid to possibly be a product of his imagination; it’s not this wild, was never given a chance to be. Deidara genuinely got off on this, Itachi realized with a surging wave of dizziness, electrifying and numbing at the same time. Infamous for his impudence, the brat honed it into a weapon that crushed the years of fortification, the restrains Itachi upheld as a need.
It was humiliating. Itachi swore rather die than exhibit a trace of mortification, or any wanton sound for that matter. Much to his dismay, a glance down on that sly grin and glimmer in visible eye solidified what that brat was after. No doubt about it, Deidara derived more thrill out of shattering him than sucking him off. In the hindsight, that’s been evident from the very first night he’s discarded reason and took the voyage into the rare unknown that ended up sucking him in and trapping beyond help.
One would need to be a special breed of a dunce to not notice the tension brewing between them. To this day, Itachi couldn't fathom what was the Leader thinking when pairing them. At first, he operated under an assumption it’s a temporarily arrangement. As time went on, it crystallized that they’ll be stuck with each other for a while. Deidara wasn’t the fan of the decision, obviously, but was clever enough to keep his mouth shut. At least when it came to the Leader, for Itachi was left with the ticking time bomb.
In the beginning, he wrote Deidara’s irascibility and glares on the nauseating green of envy and the sore pride, a defect he could, on a cognitive level, understand. Even so, there was something under the surface. Something demanding attention. Things weren’t that simple. From time to time, he’d catch Deidara giving him that look, too loaded to not hold a value. Unexperienced he may be, but not dense. Slowly but surely, Itachi got a gist of what sort of attention Deidara actually wants from him.
It was… not to sugarcoat it – it was a shock. Deidara was neither the first nor the last one to harbor… that sort of attraction towards him. It’s usually his looks or aloof demeanor that lured women in, at times even men, which separated Deidara from the rest of the shallow bunch. Such superficiality can’t hold his attention for more than a day, ephemeral like his life philosophy dictates. If he is to be enamored by someone or something for a period of time, that must mean attraction is of substance; constantly catered and nourished. In other words, it’s something within himself that attracted.
The exact source was hard to pinpoint, despite Itachi’s best efforts; enigma equally infuriated and tickled. The only definite was that Deidara is interested in him. And that was fine with Itachi, flirtatious jibes were easy to ignore. Problems started when brat’s desperate bids for attention started making him feel warm and fuzzy inside. By the time Itachi fathomed it’s not just miff, what the flame actually implicates, it was way too late to snuff it out; it won’t douse on its own, regretfully no.
Stirring and boiling, tension thick enough to be the third person in the room. Air between them was a wrong word away from erupting in flames. Until it finally did, a few weeks ago. A heated argument broke out at the inn they were lodging for a night. Nothing unforeseeable, the contrary, an anticipated scuffle.
Per expected, Deidara wanted to get physical. Ten minute in and Itachi was holding him by wrists against the wall, not so much in self-defense as to just calm the bomb down. Sharingan would mend things, but cost tenfold in the long term. He refrained from using it, like any other radical measures. It open the beginning of the end.
With no other option, Itachi silenced Deidara with his lips.
Or perhaps there were other options; many options. Yet he latched onto one that sealed his fate by veering the life off the carefully crafted path.
Blue eyes widened in surprise, the softest gasp passing lips and tickling his, gulling into closeness that’s bound to doom. Deidara jerked against him and that snapped Itachi’s reverie. His own pupils expanded, thoughts raced as heart pounded in ears, offering anything but a clarification. Oh shit.
He should have broken the contact. Should have pretended it was an accident, a spur of a moment. What Itachi definitely shouldn’t have done was curl arms around Deidara’s waist, pull closer and slot lower lip between his. What stirred such eagerness, that Itachi couldn't know, nor attempted to dig, lest the answer surfaces more unpleasant why’s and wherefore’s. To this day, he couldn't tell what possessed him in that inn.
The rest was history. Clothes were ripped off, lips met in messy kisses, hips grinded together in the searing friction. What did surprise him however, was Deidara’s docility, willingness to submit. He let himself be dominated, gladly bent knees, exposed himself and let Itachi take him, for endless hours. It was a conundrum, one he didn’t dwell too much on as the heat consumed. He was stupidly aroused by the sight of Deidara’s atypical tractability stirred a beast inside of him. Once the skin has cooled down, Itachi was able to see it for what it is – a feverish desire for a crumb of attention.
It should have been a one time thing – a mistake he looked at with contempt – not a pattern. Definitely not a pattern. That night, he’s mapped out every plane and contour of Deidara’s body, familiarized himself with every sensitive spot, knew where to bite to milk a sweet groan, where to press to make him sharply buck up and cry in pain. He soaked in every moan and silent beg for more, every harder and faster, drank in the pain laced pleasure etching into Deidara’s crumpled features as he approached orgasm.
How could he forget? How could he live with the memory of the heat without an accordant craving for a repeat? Of course he buckled. It was in his cursed destiny to.
Ever since then, like animals that haven’t been fed, they couldn't control themselves. They seized every opportunity, possible and narrowly avoided disasters, to quench loneliness. Their vagabond lifestyles as missing nins meant they often spent nights without roof over heads. At first, Itachi was against doing it outside; basic decency. It was one in the line of rules Deidara stomped over with a grin and flirtatious flicker of golden locks. He cracked a week later, when he caught a glimpse of Deidara bathing in the lake. Something primal came to life. Before Itachi knew it, he was holding Deidara’s hips in a vice grip and chasing release buried deep inside his body.
Deidara never denied him, never. His libido was ridiculously high, something he seemed to feel no shame about; becoming his volatile nature, Itachi supposed. That’d all hold the water – if Deidara were the instigator. But no, it was himself that got spurred on by the dirty jokes and low gazes from beneath the lashes. It was all him. Itachi couldn’t beguile himself any longer. He was acting like beast let off leash, not vice versa.
Sometimes they fucked. Sometimes grinded against each other like two hormonal teenagers. Sometimes they made love. That part was most dangerous – not because of the scarce moments of tenderness, but because of how much he came to like them. It was undoing, defiling every drop of blood shed. Sensual gratifications and affections shouldn’t be mixed; must not. Itachi knew he couldn't allocate the space for physicality in what little is left of his life, much less love. Yet, he found himself dreaming. A man is at his most unpredictable when he catches himself dreaming of the impossible.
Far too often, Itachi had to remind himself what he’s in Akatsuki for – not to get seduced by Deidara’s body, but to keep tabs on him, just like the rest of them. Itachi tried his best to distance from the firecracker leading him down the primrose path, but it was easier said than done when temptation was always within reach. Besides, giving Deidara a could shoulder would just fan the flames. Itachi knew it’s crucial he threads carefully, but he couldn't find that fine balance between indulgence and resistance.
Deidara has no ax to grind, that was clear as day. Artfulness goes against his candidness, the enviable freedom of his spirit. He was after the thrill of having a compatible bed partner – the heady triumph of taming an Uchiha. Itachi couldn't deceive himself that Deidara posed a threat; at least, not an overt one Deidara himself is conscious of. No, that’s not the crux of the matter. The very act of longing itself was deleterious.
The current mess started a couple days ago, one of their missions. It hadn’t gone awry, the opposite, has passed without a hitch. It wasn’t a big clan, couple families in total, but was in possession of a troublesome Kekkei Genkai the Leader wanted eradicated. An ordinary job for two S rank missing criminals. Deidara’s bombs come in handy on such missions, hence why the Leader chose the two of them. He corves the sky while Itachi takes care of the ground, ensuring not a soul gets out – an utter annihilation.
The dead of the night as the moon glowed blood red, a presage. The macabre contrast kindled old memories, poked into the unhealed wounds; the ones Itachi never tried to heal. As expected, the thoughts couldn't be kept at bay. They spiraled, bad. Guilt was his comfort, melancholy a welcomed friend, the only company he could have. He didn’t have the right for alleviation. The punishment itself was a form of a gift.
His dolor didn’t pass unnoticed, couldn't. Much to Itachi’s surprise, Deidara left him to own devices for a while. Perhaps out of what little friable respect tangled between them, perhaps not so much, hard to tell. He’s not privy to the truth about the massacre, nor ever will be, but surely has put two and two together and realized the resemblance unnerved. Itachi, inwardly, appreciated the rare peace of mind, even if he’d never voice it.
He was mopping when Deidara approached with steady,sinisterly decisive steps, hands on hips and the visible eye narrowed in impatience. Your mind is drifting, Deidara stated, without a prominent emotion, just unnerving resolve. Itachi expected a tempest, a barrage of questions he had no option but to parry. Surely not a husky whisper and a palm caressing his thigh, skimming up and petted, dangerously close to groin.
Touch was unnervingly light, nonetheless charged up like a lighting strike. Itachi knew he made a funny sound; to hell, a funny expression, if Deidara’s titters meant anything. Too gloomy, he declined the offer with a small head shake and a scowl. Unabashed in his gluttony for attention, Deidara wasn’t having it. In a heartbeat, he knelt and pried his legs apart, sloted between them, emitting mischief that spiked the desire he’s not to welcome.
Itachi’s treacherous heart skipped a beat. Let me take your mind off thing, Deidara quipped, rich and low, curving spine and licking lips, lay back, relax and let me do the work, mm. They’ve indulged in many vices, but Deidara has never gone down on him; preferred to bring him off with the mouths on his hands. With curiosity tickled, Itachi shoved the worries aside and caved in to Deidara’s whims, yet again.
And that’s how they found themselves here, himself lounging on a log with Deidara kneeling between his legs and sucking him off. Only now that those spellbinding blue eyes are locked onto his face, drinking in every squinch and spasm of facial muscles did Itachi realize he’s being used even when using Deidara for own pleasure.
Rather than bobbing head with speed meant to bring off, Deidara took his sweet time; hollowed cheeks, moved tongue and worked him slowly. At some points Itachi felt like dying from the pure bliss melting bones, hazy chemicals floating to brain. Ah. So good. If he knew just what wonders that mouth can do he would have coaxed Deidara into this sooner. Now that he does know, nothing will erase this sinful, stolen memory of elation.
No way this is his first time – it is Itachi’s, but not Deidara’s. That realization… it shouldn’t send fire through veins. Shouldn’t coil the heat in his gut and mold it into something grotesque, gnawing and calling for the impossible. It was a kick of anger void of a target, perhaps aimed at the very self for succumbing to the vice of mindless possessiveness, the fate of the cursed Uchiha he’s always privately scorned.
Despite his efforts to subdue the storm, it knew no reason. As if possessed, Itachi found himself rocking into Deidara’s mouth, fierce and relentless, without any mindfulness. Once again, he clasped the back of Deidara’s head and thrust him onto his cock, tip sliding down the throat. Itachi’s lips molded into a silent o, first of consuming bliss, then of fury once he realize how low he’s fallen.
Blue eyes shot open, glistered with unshed tears but were stirringly devoid of fear. Deidara craved this. You’re still in power. Itachi sat up for a better angle, and fucked his mouth without a pause, uncaring that own lungs feel like burning. Muscles trembled in exertion, begged for a pause; like hell he’d give it. He had to overwhelm, had to leave Deidara powerless to amend the own disintegrating sense of control.
In and out, Itachi didn’t give him a moment to adjust. Lewd slaps of skin on skin and slushy drags of saliva raised the heat a couple notches, dipped his groans by a few octaves. Drool trickled from the corners of Deidara’s mouth, hands limply hanging by the side, useless. But it was the fuzziness of his eyes that hitched Itachi’s breath.
Little by little, Deidara got used to the rhythm; or rather, the absence of, granted how erratically he was moving. Deidara bore into him. Blue of his eyes wasn’t a swirling vermilion of the Sharingan, nonetheless Itachi felt it searing into his core. It was all too personal, too close for comfort, awkwardness demanding he tears the eyes away.
Except, it’d taste like defeat. He could neither stiffen the groans of budding ecstasy, not freeze the delirious movement of his hips. Itachi flew the free hand to own mouth. He couldn't control himself any longer, but, least all, embarrassing sounds were softened.
In the absence of sounds, the rare lucidity crept in. Just what is he doing?
Fire coiled hot in groin, building and building, a wave without an ebb. Gathering the absurd amount of willpower, Itachi extracted himself from Deidara’s mouth with a sharp hiss. Balls ached from how close he has been, twitching tip coated in Deidara’s saliva, precum already issuing again. Ah. It was maddening. He had no right to pursue this. He had no right to feel this good. To crave release, the unburdening.
Deidara broke into heavy gasps, almost pants, coughing and spitting after the abuse. “Hey, don’t do that”, he pouted, voice raspy, cheeks flushed and lips glistering, making Itachi’s cock jump and leak more.
Drawing in a deep breath, Itachi clenched the muscles on lower stomach, lest he’s still close. “I thought you liked it rough,” out of breath and options, he decided to play oblivious. He couldn't tear eyes away, couldn't stop the chills from taking over.
As expected, Deidara made a face. “Not that, hm,” he openly sulked; it was endearing. “I want to hear how much I’m breaking you,” brat fretted, reached up and clasped his wrist to pull the hand away.
Itachi allowed the maneuver. Had to allow it, was too dazed to fight it off. Nor was there a reason to resist when it was obvious that Deidara will continue getting things his way. This has always been a battle for you, hasn’t it?
Ah, there he goes being too frank. The issue is, Itachi very much did not want to be heard. Admitting that was, obviously, counter-effective. If Deidara found out, daredevil in him would press and press until he gets what he wants. More often than not, he found Deidara’s bullheadedness nettling, but at times it could be endearing; enticing even. Right now Itachi wished to put the brat in his place. To grip Deidara by the wrist, twist him around so he’s laying down grass, climb over and just -
No. Not yet. Breathe in; breathe out. “There’s no need for that”, Itachi shook head and murmured faintly. He couldn't offer anything more persuasive, not this wrecked.
“There is," Deidara countered in the same breath, brows furrowed, lips set in a flat line. “I like it. I like hearing you. It turns me on, hm” he added, unabashedly, rolled hips and whimpered, impatient with own needs.
So outspoken; so shameless. It was crazily hot, spiked Itachi’s need. At times, he found himself envious of Deidara’s freedom of character; unbound by limitations of the mind, the torment of guilt. Not even the debasement like going down on an Uchiha was off the limits. There’s no such thing as perfection – a limit has to exist, always.
Seldom, an sadistic itch crept under Itachi’s skin, spread like a disease. He wanted to push and push, till Deidara cracks. Till he finds out what makes the bomb tick and earns himself a firm ‘no’. Whether he’d be demoralized or enticed like never before by the panic flashing through those fierce eyes, Itachi couldn't know. Everything pointed towards the latter, towards the physical and emotional rapture so mind-blowing his mouth watered at the mere thought of.
That fantasy had to be shelved, for it made his dick ache that much Itachi almost cursed. “Uh,” a shrill noise did escape him however, telltale how undone he is.
Deidara’s moist breath was ghosting over his thighs, tongues on those callous nimble hands moving dangerously close to balls, fingers kneading through the pubes, igniting dull ache. Violent trembles squeezed Itachi’s eyes shut, groans painfully raking throat.
Hell. Yea, this is pure hell. Gosh, how much he ached. How much he wanted.
Despite himself, Itachi protruded hips, silently pleading for the same attention he’s been depriving Deidara of. Just his luck, the brat was feeling lenient. “How will I know if you’re enjoying it if you don’t tell me?” Deidara dared chaff, dared drag the tongue up vein and lick the gathered precum at the slit.
As if you don’t know. Itachi admitted nothing of those humbling sorts, just glared down at this brat that gave himself the right to act this bold. It’d be easy to flicker Sharingan to life, but costly. A flash of red will enhance Deidara’s waywardness. A challenge, indeed.
Some other time he may enjoy taming the untamable, perhaps even later, but for now he was determined to achieve the long denied climax. In the hindsight, Itachi supposed Deidara’s promise wasn’t an empty one. He really did make all concerns vanish for a little while; such a hedonistic escapism, mayhap, for a bit, he could allow it.
For the time being, he had to mix the truth with lies, even then deception was insult to both their intelligence. “Cut that. We’re out in the open. Someone will hear”, fizzled Itachi as he briefly surveyed the surroundings, like anyone would dare peep.
With a stressed inhale, Deidara went wide-eyed. “That’s what you’re worried about? Your dignity?” incredulity imbued his voice, trembling with the creeping amusement. “Oh please, don’t make me laugh,” he snickered, smirked and let the heavy breath ghost over his bobbing tip. It tingled, then twinged.
Caught off guard, Itachi gave a shuddering gasp, fell back on the log and gripped it so tight knuckled bleached. “Just who in their right minds would sneak up on two Akatsuki members?” Deidara openly laughed now, slithering closer, like a predator on a prey. It’s beyond him how Deidara managed to be this chatty even when sucking a man off.
“Won’t it be insulting if someone passes your radar?”, Deidara razzed, gently stroked the base and curled tongue around the girth, savored the taste. With a trail of slushy kisses, he reached the head and lapped on newly formed precum. It seared. Burned into the core. Itachi clenched fists, dissolved into a mush of stupefying sensual pleasure.
Insulting? Sure is. But it’s unrealizable. An unfamiliar chakra signature wouldn't fly over either their radars. No one can spy on them outside their awareness. Itachi knew that, nonetheless the hideous greenness decaying from within begged to differ. It knew no reason, just twisted his stomach and eroded what scant sanity he had left.
But it was what Deidara teased next that made him see red. “If they wanna watch, so be it. I wouldn't mind a bit, mm.”
I would. A lot.
The searing rush of unfamiliar rage engulfed. No, it wasn’t unfamiliar, not at all but existent, suppressed. Nonetheless. “Deidara”, a low hiss, warning.
For a beat, Deidara’s hands twitched. He let out a shaky gasp, confidence briefly slipping; good, Itachi wanted that. His focus seemed to be on the irked hardening of his eyes, a tapered glare speaking the every unspoken. Deidara seemed affected. Not frightened, just taken off guard by the gruffness, the firmness he can present.
A blink, then another, and daze was gone. “You would, hmm?” it was posed as a question, in reality a statement. “Quite perverted, mm. I like it” – teed off, Itachi didn’t dignify it with an answer. They both knew what the silence implied.
A frisson of anticipation blended with ire ran through him at the gradual bordering of Deidara’s wry smile. “Fine, fine! Be a bore, hm!” he puffed with clear smugness, a goad Itachi didn’t dare fall for. Couldn’t afford to, not without falling apart.
Deidara toyed with his hairs, nuzzled against the shaft, all three tongues scraping and slobbering. The sound he made, throaty and deep, was humiliation embodied. A silver lining, Deidara seemed chuffed. “I get it, I get it,” he droned, “you want me to put my mouth to better use, mm,” got a hold of his infuriatingly swollen cock and guided.
The contact wasn’t made. Deidara halted in the last second. Itachi barely bit back a deep-toned groan of frustration. Ire overflowed, scorched, gnawed, but he couldn't let it surface. Giving a hum of delight, Deidara gazed up, coy smile nothing but trouble. “Do you want me to prolong it or get you off?”
Please, just let me cum already. “Do whatever you want”, mumbled Itachi instead, breathless and ruined, but still above caving in to Deidara’s provocations.
In hindsight, he knew he was fighting a lost battle. This brat has found a way to outdo him and will continue to do so, until he admits defeat. Never. Not to you. Not knowing what it’ll do to you.
“So disinterested,” Deidara huffed, with ring of amusement. “You’re acting like I’m not on my knees sucking your dick”, and slowly rolled tongue up his length, forcing Itachi to grunt; fuck. “But I will wipe the apathy off your poker face, just you wait!”
Just my luck there are things you’re still blind to. Otherwise, you would have realized you’ve managed that long ago.
Itachi said nothing. Couldn’t get tongue to untie, mind to unfreeze. Fire in the blue eyes ruined him. Deidara’s flushed face etched into his brain. Just thinking about it covered in release – his release – got Itachi throbbing. Damn.
Deidara held his cock in place with both hands; for once, didn’t allow tongues to play. “Not a word?” he poked. “You Uchihas are all prideful creatures, aren’t you?”, teased while licking head, positioned the pointy tip over the slit and probed, until he got the hiss and spasm he was after. A little tease.
That wasn’t even dignified an answer, nor could he provide a coherent one. Itachi kept on ignoring him despite wanting nothing more than to tangle through Deidara’s hair and yank down on his throbbing cock. They’ve fooled around enough times for Itachi to get in touch with own body. He knew this coiling tension, seconds from the edge. A couple fierce rams would be all it takes to finally reach that sweet bliss, but it’d be an unacceptable loss of control. Itachi was adamant on holding it in for a bit longer.
In accordance, he narrowed gaze, sizzled another warning. If only it worked. “Fine, have it your way, you prideful bastard,” Deidara raged once more, rascality tangible in tone, as well as the devilishness, a telltale he’s up to no good. “But I’ll have it mine too.”
And with that, Deidara closed mouth over him – didn’t spare a second, took him all the way in and began deepthroating.
Hell.
Itachi’s vision flashed white. His brain short-circuited. “Fuck,” and he fell apart.
Shaky sounds of his tattered breath seemed to spur Deidara on. Purrs sent vibrations over him, over the tailbone and up spine. Itachi wasn’t given a chance to savor it, a new barrage undone. There were no gags, no gasps for air. Deidara was taking this like a pro, confidence weaved into every movement and mewls igniting a dualistic flame of arousal and irritation. He’s not the first one, but will be the last. Itachi avowed, in blood.
“Ahh – hah, you….” guttural sounds leaving him couldn't be categorized. Itachi lost control over own body. He was shaking like a leaf in the gust, muscles and lungs burning, sweating waves and gasping like on the verge of hyperventilating.
He was broken, utterly, irrecoverably. These moments spiced with electric buzzes, this unadulterated thrill coursing through blood… they’re not fleeting. Not at all. They pledged to haunt. Deidara seemed pleased by that, of course he was. He purred, kneaded base and did his absolute best to pleasure. To please the one he swore to beat. You did.
Deidara moved with absurd speed and ferocity, glided tongue over the underside and swallowed against him. No matter how much he tried, Itachi couldn't keep motionless or quiet. He couldn't articulate the divine sensation down on himself, the stupefying heat around his cock, the warm static under skin, the poison injected directly into soul, diffusing and taking over, driving selfishness away and indoctrinating.
Deidara wasn’t quiet either, releasing all sorts of lewd noises, trying to shape a smile around him. He’d pull away just to catch breath and collect saliva on tongue, all with obscene pops and mucky licks, tantalizing lick with established eye contact, frisky. Then he’d swallow him whole, moan and suck all soundness out of him through his dick. Itachi couldn't believe how luck he was, or unlucky, depending on the perspective.
Heat washed over him, ruined. Ah, he’ll never forget; never. Despite himself, Itachi sat up again and rocked forwards, to enhance the already overpowering sensations. Deidara held palms against his thighs but didn’t try to stop. The opposite, his eyes grew glassier, more pronounced with desire, each time Itachi rammed down and gave a throaty groan, unfolded. Brat soaked in attention, derived power from his inability to look away.
Deidara’s eyes were locked onto his face, never straying, bright with want, reflected the faux innocence, coyness that keyed up. Swollen lips were wrapped around his dick, sliding in and out, golden locks failing and framing face in impeccably chaotic manner to make the image even more erotic. Itachi groaned, deep and low, spine curving so hips reach even deeper. Deidara whined in turn, touching himself with the free hand. If Itachi exercised a scintilla of power, he would have forbidden him that stolen relief, but couldn't get own limbs to move, much less command.
No human words could articulate how breathtaking Deidara looked at the moment, how endearing and hot in same breath. Itachi’s mouth went dry, desire speeding his heart rate, pulse both down on himself and inside head going mad. Itachi knew he should look away, for sake of endurance, yet, as if transfixed could not – not for a split second.
Only he will get to see Deidara like this, malleable and eager to please – only he.
Only he got to -
Deidara’s pupils shrank, then dilated as he flinched, shock suffused over the crumpled face. What in the…
The throbbing burning in the eye sockets clarified everything. Ah hell. He’s gone loose, hasn’t he? Sharingan has flared to life. He didn’t mean it to, impulse has mashed with the possessiveness. It was a demeaning loss of control, but Itachi couldn't berate himself, not after this rewarding flinch. To be pinned down by his curse of a gift… it left Deidara affected. Eye for an eye, wouldn't you say?
With an intense suction, Deidara pulled away. “Finally,” he murmured hoarsely, fascinated and pleased with himself, “you’ve finally let go”. Then crawled closer.
And took him back in. A series of low curses rolled off tongue, undignified yes and the ruinous first syllable of please. If possible, the moist orifice was even hotter; like an inferno, stirring an accordant one inside his gut.
Itachi was rewarded for the slip by watching Deidara snake a hand a fist under the elastic band and directly touch himself. “Hmm,” he purred around his cock, bliss surfacing. It was criminally hot.
He knew of Deidara’s fasciation with Sharingan, everyone did. However, Itachi was unaware it possessed this libidinous facet, that the flicker of red had Deidara hot under the collar and squeezing thighs. It was a massive turn-on. There was something heady in how the smallest things he did got under Deidara’s skin – how effortlessly he could stir him, how tiniest crumbs of attention got him yielding.
Comprehension wasn’t exactly new, however it did awaken something horrendously primal inside. Needless to say, Itachi disdained that unruly facet of his soul, one that doesn’t shy away from thirsting. Regretfully, it was far from unfamiliar. The more he tried to suppress the flame the higher it burned. He was, egotistically, possessively, yearning for warmth only flesh of another can provide.
Itachi had to gulp, take a moment to recollect himself. Fruitless endeavors when Deidara was purring and licking him; mewling as if he’s having a field day toying within him, pleasuring and shattering the stolid facade. There’s point in holding back anymore, he’s unfolded. Itachi let all go completely. Without reservations, he grinded into Deidara’s mouth, groaned and chased the long denied release.
Blood roared inside ears. Pressure was building and building and… gosh he was close. Shaking from head to toe, Itachi bent over, held back of Deidara’s head and fucked his mouth like a madman. He pounded impossibly deep, searching new angles and ferocity, the back of his thighs hitting Deidara’s jaw. He had no worries if Deidara could take it. Even if he couldn't he’ll be pleased, itched to have his boundaries discards, violated.
Itachi’s peripheral vision blurred. Stomach twisted tight with tension, gut burned with desire. Pulsing down on himself got out of hand. Just a bit more and…
Abruptly wet heat vanished – it took Itachi’s lust hazed mind a beat to grasp what has happened. Little sadist withdrew; tsk.
Tomoes whirled, vehemently, persistently. “You’re playing with fire, Deidara,” Itachi warned, cheeks flushing with the realization how hoarse he sounded, thin and shaky.
A slow swallow, it spoke volumes. “And you’re too arrogant for you good, Itachi,” Deidara sat back on his heels and fired back. “Reap what you’ve sowed, mm.”
With puffed cheeks and unfocused eyes, Deidara seemed, simply, overwhelmed, all labored breath and trembles. As much as Itachi wanted to give him a benefit of doubt, he knew better. This was all intended. The gleam in blue irises gave deviltry away. In accordance, tomoes gave another wild spin, black wheels piercing on spot. It was disdainful to use Sharingan for such… depravity, but he was out of options. Desperation demanded, he yielded.
As luck would have it, he needn’t do a thing. Deidara studied him for a beat more, then slithered closer, curled fingers around his painfully swollen shaft and pumped. “Ah, yes”, Itachi was embarrassed to sound that moan. Damn it all.
He wanted to be sucked off, not this. Tinges were blissful, any stimulation welcomed, but he was left frustrated in ways he couldn't deign to describe. Too undignified, too undoing. Although, he did say anything was fine, out of spite. That’s what Deidara meant by reaping what he’s sowed.
There was no place for bitterness, not a single complain. All Itachi could do is screw eyes and grind into those sinful hand tongues. Deidara crawled to the side, cocked head and inspected; licked lips like it’s the juiciest thing he ever had pleasure of seeing, as if he wanted to have him around tongue again but refrained from taking back in. Seeing Deidara turned on turned Itachi on too. With each swift stroke and lick his cock twitched more, drooled helplessly over Deidara’s hands, down onto the ground.
A couple firm yanks, and the world went back. “Ugh, I’m gonna -” before Itachi realized what has hit him, he was groaning low and releasing – neither in Deidara’s mouth nor over hands, but wasting himself down on the grass.
Initially, he didn’t realize that, couldn't focus on a thing but the violent thrumming of his heart. Trails of sweat rushed down temple, glued hair to the back of nape and clothes to the quivering skin. Cock kept jerking, releasing thick spurts of cum, like he hasn’t emptied himself in a good while. Through fog, Itachi realized he wasn’t quiet, but making all sorts of noises; wasn’t still either, shaking and rocking, devouring every crumb of rare pleasure.
It didn’t matter. For once, the front and dignity didn’t matter. Only in moments like these he was pushed to absolute limits – physical and mental, for no one else managed to ruffle his feathers this intimately. Only in moments like these when liberated from shackles of conscience Itachi could taste genuine freedom – not even the one he’s long forgotten, but the one he never had to begin with.
Ah, the sweet bliss. It took Itachi a dozen second to find an anchor. Heat down groin was gradually subsiding, cock still twitching but no more seed was being release, pressure down balls alleviated. He made a mess, the sizable puddle humbled. He groaned, long and delighted, collapsing down on the log. It nearly cracked under force; ups. Utterly spent, Itachi rocked back and dragged palms over sweaty face.
Gosh. That was just…yea, definitely a heaven and hell in one go. For some reason, denying himself ended up enhancing the experience, orgasm so potent it rendered him unthinking, unexisting. Dulcet purrs made him conscious of the reality – Deidara’s nerve. Post-coital elation was sedating, appetizing, however Itachi couldn't brush away the miff. Not a thing needed to be uttered, he knew exactly what this was about.
Brat sat on knees, rubbed mouth with the back of palm, dragged other through sweaty bangs. “Why the long face?” he sported a devilish grin, teeming with pride. “Hmm, tell me Itachi?”
So he was sulking? So be it, Itachi was too lost to school himself into the veneer of apathy. At least Deidara assumed it was vexation; and it was, but not all was aimed at Deidara, far from that. Self-hatred had him in shackles.
Sensing his lingering frustration, the brat was adamant on rubbing the salt into the wound. He lolled head, bangs covering a side of his face oh so gorgeously, and let lips quirk, mischievously. “Are you grumpy? Wish you coated mine in your seed?”
Yes. Itachi didn’t say it, of course. Too vulgar, too mortifying. His dick gave a twitch of interest at the jab, traitorous mind already supplying the obscene pictures. He didn’t tuck himself back in, so Deidara had a front row to the lousy stage of his lies; ugh.
A dry titter worked up. “You said anything was fine…” Deidara dared throw his exact words back at him, “it’s a pity tho, I wanted to see if you’re actually that sweet,” went as far to stimulate an innocent smile and shrug. This menace…
Itachi felt his eye twitch, frustration seeping back into the system. He knew mockery when met with it, especially this overt. This brat… now, more than ever, Itachi was itching to teach him a lesson. He held back, for he knew retaliation is precisely what Deidara was after. Not to say he won’t be receiving one, far from that, just it’d be calculated and entirely on Itachi’s terms.
In spite of post-orgasmic elation lulling into sluggishness, Itachi managed to glare. It’s not that Deidara was being obnoxious or cruel, the opposite, frisky – and way way too bold. This warranted a correction, when the euphoria pumping blood dwindles. The experience left him torn, boneless. Whether he got to reach climax with Deidara’s hands or mouth shouldn’t matter. Woefully, it did. Why, no clue, but Itachi couldn't gloss over the discontentment residing within, as nonsensical and humiliating as it may be.
Deidara nosed it out, thus an inquisitive buzz. “You are…”, unbelievable or insufferable, Itachi wished to say; in reality just sighed and shook head, sorbing up now that he’s not so overwhelmed by lust and adrenaline.
That didn’t stop Deidara from gloating. “So good it blew your mind?”, he chaffed and nuzzled cheek against Itachi’s knee. “I’m taking it as a compliment,” purred like a content little kitten, although there was no denying the frustration blending into a seemingly gratified smile.
It was madly attractive. Itachi felt the heat spread through him. Ah, at this rate Deidara will get him hard again. Before Itachi could decide what to do, Deidara bit lower lip and mocked. “Heh, I’m flattered to leave an Uchiha speechless, hmm.”
That earned him a glare, which seemed to widen the cheeky grin. Ah, damn. It was clear as day that Deidara was doing everything to rattle his cage. If only Itachi could claim it wasn’t working. Shivers roving down spine begged to differ. Even so, being affected and showing it were two different things, former may be unavoidable but latter surely not.
“You talk too much,” yet he bristled, exhibiting the aforesaid miff he swore off showing. Even when you have my dick in your mouth, Itachi couldn't utter such vulgarity, not even after having his mind blown.
“I thought it’s your job to make me a blabbering mess,” Deidara teased with a languid arch, tempting. “Or a screaming mess, whichever you prefer. You know I’ll never be silent, mm.”
It was a challenge, one he had to take – and win. Itachi looked at the bulge in Deidara’s pants and offered levelly, “do you want me to return the favor?”
“No, I love to suffer from blue balls”, deadpanned Deidara as he stood up, wobbly on feet. “Duh, of course I do!”, he fretted with a staged pout, and planted both palms on hips, huffing and puffing.
What a little nightmare; his little nightmare. “After servicing you so good for so long the least I’d expect -”
Rest of the complain died in throat. Itachi seized his wrist and swirled around. Rather than embracing or pulling Deidara into his lap Itachi shoved him down on the soft grass – in a heartbeat, was on him.
As expected, Deidara allowed the maneuver; allowed to be dominated. He yelped and hissed but didn’t fight him seriously. Such odd pliancy from the antithesis of same fired up. With hazy smirk, Deidara gazed up at him through half-lidded eyes, reach for his ponytail and yanked, in a provocation, tangling through the back of his soaked shirt and demanding he loses it. Stinging was dulled, nonetheless galling. This bossiness begged to be corrected. And, let’s say, he was in the mood to indulge.
“Good”, Itachi murmured low while climbing over his prey. He traced a fingertip over the tent in Deidara’s pants, delighted by squirms and buckles. Still, they can do better.
Instead of cupping and lightly caressing, Itachi squeezed. He got Deidara to cry and writhe beneath him, but also wrap arms around his neck and coax closer. The scarlet of Itachi’s eyes flared anew. Only difference that, this time, he was fully intended on using it. He’d pay Deidara back tenfold, so it never crosses his mind to tease him like that again. Judging by the glee in heavily lidded eyes, Itachi knew Deidara had an inkling what sweet torture he arranged himself by acting like a brat.
It’s too late for backing off now, nor he expected Deidara’s principles to allow a retreat. Confidence renewed, Itachi tipped his chin and made him gaze directly into the glowing vermilion of Sharingan, flaring with rekindled desire. “Because I don’t plan on letting you off hook easily.”