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midnightdiddleA slightly smutty blind!Itachi drabble, for ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
jbmcdragon.
They never kissed during sex. When he really thought about it, they'd never kissed. Itachi had this air about him, a 'touch-me-not' air, and sometimes Kisame wondered whose Itachi was.
Touch me not, for I am -------
Itachi certainly belonged to someone, but Kisame just couldn't figure out who. When Itachi panted above him, legs spread over Kisame's hips, Kisame would rest his hands on Itachi's waist, thumbs pressed into the teenager's flat stomach. And when Itachi groaned, jerking, Kisame lifted his hips, pulling Itachi down, pushing himself deeper inside.
Touch me, touch me, touch me.
Itachi's come was hot and wet on Kisame's stomach, white against pale blue. Itachi leaned forward, limp, and Kisame grunted, coming hard in the too-small body. He clenched his hands around Itachi's waist, and his hands nearly touched. Itachi was far too skinny, too small and light and easy to hold. It made Kisame think things he shouldn't think, want things he shouldn't want.
Touch me not. Love me not. Want not, need not, touch not.
Itachi's lips touched Kisame's collarbone, dry and hot on wet and slick skin, and it felt like he was being branded by Itachi's mouth. Not a kiss, not a kiss, nothing more than Itachi being too tired, too spent, to hold his head up. Kisame lifted Itachi up, hissed as his dick slipped out from inside Itachi, and Itachi breathed, because Itachi was too strong, too perfect, to make a noise.
Love me, love me not. Touch me, touch me not.
Kisame rolled Itachi onto the bed, shifted himself off the small, soft surface, swinging his feet around so he was sitting upright. Itachi grabbed a sweat-damp blanket, tugged it over himself, and looked through Kisame, because he always looked through him. Kisame reached out, fingers grazing Itachi's forehead, and the teenager not-quite jerked, flinching back.
"Don't," he said. Don't touch me. Touch me not.
Kisame brought his hand back, scratched his come-splattered stomach, and stood, throwing his weight onto the other bed next to Itachi's. He fell on top of the sheets, shifted his weight until he could pull a blanket over him, and scratched at his neck. It burned where Itachi's mouth had rested, like a brand.
Touch me not, for I am Itachi's.
jbmcdragon. They never kissed during sex. When he really thought about it, they'd never kissed. Itachi had this air about him, a 'touch-me-not' air, and sometimes Kisame wondered whose Itachi was.
Touch me not, for I am -------
Itachi certainly belonged to someone, but Kisame just couldn't figure out who. When Itachi panted above him, legs spread over Kisame's hips, Kisame would rest his hands on Itachi's waist, thumbs pressed into the teenager's flat stomach. And when Itachi groaned, jerking, Kisame lifted his hips, pulling Itachi down, pushing himself deeper inside.
Touch me, touch me, touch me.
Itachi's come was hot and wet on Kisame's stomach, white against pale blue. Itachi leaned forward, limp, and Kisame grunted, coming hard in the too-small body. He clenched his hands around Itachi's waist, and his hands nearly touched. Itachi was far too skinny, too small and light and easy to hold. It made Kisame think things he shouldn't think, want things he shouldn't want.
Touch me not. Love me not. Want not, need not, touch not.
Itachi's lips touched Kisame's collarbone, dry and hot on wet and slick skin, and it felt like he was being branded by Itachi's mouth. Not a kiss, not a kiss, nothing more than Itachi being too tired, too spent, to hold his head up. Kisame lifted Itachi up, hissed as his dick slipped out from inside Itachi, and Itachi breathed, because Itachi was too strong, too perfect, to make a noise.
Love me, love me not. Touch me, touch me not.
Kisame rolled Itachi onto the bed, shifted himself off the small, soft surface, swinging his feet around so he was sitting upright. Itachi grabbed a sweat-damp blanket, tugged it over himself, and looked through Kisame, because he always looked through him. Kisame reached out, fingers grazing Itachi's forehead, and the teenager not-quite jerked, flinching back.
"Don't," he said. Don't touch me. Touch me not.
Kisame brought his hand back, scratched his come-splattered stomach, and stood, throwing his weight onto the other bed next to Itachi's. He fell on top of the sheets, shifted his weight until he could pull a blanket over him, and scratched at his neck. It burned where Itachi's mouth had rested, like a brand.
Touch me not, for I am Itachi's.
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Date: 2005-12-04 08:12 pm (UTC)You like my Kisame? Thank you! And it's all because of you! If you'd never written your blind Itachi, I never would have written one, either. We need to do this more often, writing little challenge things. It's always great fun, and stuff comes out of it, and I love your ItaHina! LOVE!